


i have loved the stars too fondly

by LadyMerlin



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Alternate Universes, Deus Ex Machina, Gen or Pre-Slash, Implied/Referenced Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Not Tagged For Spoilers, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, T'hy'la, Tarsus IV, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Timey-Wimey, Unreliable Narrator, Vulcan Mind Melds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24860536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: Jim lands on his knees just as the figure reaches him, clad in a loose dark robe. The person beneath the swathes of fabric is short, almost childlike by Terran standards, but Jim doesn’t want to assume. “Pacem,” he croaks, holding his hand out in the ta’al, which has become a universal gesture of greeting after the destruction of Vulcan.The figure responds with the gesture, and dark eyes blink at him from within the shadow of the cowl. “Ah,” it says in accented Standard, voice high and childlike. “You’re a hallucination.”The only thing Jim can think of in response to that is, “I think that’s my line.”
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Spock, James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 46
Kudos: 360
Collections: T’hy’la Bang 2020





	1. Part I: The First (2237)

**Author's Note:**

> I know this isn't the longest fic, but I'm a weenie when it comes to anything over 10k, so. Credits!  
> \- Special love to to my new friend and collaborator, [einahpets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/einahpets), whose art makes my heart sing, and with whom every conversation feels like a mind-meld. I wish we'd met ~~ten~~ _eleven_ years ago when ST:XI first came out. Here's a link to the art masterpost - brace for [BREATHTAKING ART](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24958120). I just want to say, I'm looking forward to a long friendship with you <3  
> \- Thank you to [Ang3lba3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3) for helping me read through the fic and giving me some excellent pointers, but heads up! A lot of the fic hasn't been beta read. It is _entirely_ my fault for leaving it to the last minute (*cough*posting@6am*cough*), though I in turn blame RL. I'll get the fic a thorough review as soon as I possibly can, but in the meantime, please be kind.  
> \- Finally, thank you to everyone who reassured me that this is worth posting, and that I didn't need to run away to another country and change my name. I owe you guys. 
> 
> This fic is broken into five parts. The sixth chapter is a chronology of the events in the fic as compared to the (relevant) events of AOS and TOS. It should help keep things straight when the timey-wimey stuff hits the fan. 
> 
> The title for this fic comes from the poem "Twilight Hours" by Sarah Williams. 
> 
> Last but not least, please keep your arms and legs within the vehicle and remain seated at all times. Do hang on to your suspension of disbelief, your slash goggles, and remember, the louder you scream, the happier we are! Enjoy the ride!

The only thing Jim remembers is a blow to the back of his head, screams and phaser fire erupting around him, before everything goes dark.

-

He wakes up in the middle of a desert, buried three inches deep in fine red sand, the sun beating down on his back with an almost physical force. 

Or maybe it’s the memory of having been hit with _actual_ physical force, he can’t say for sure. In any case, he feels like replicator waste. His entire body hurts, his head is throbbing like a herd of elephants is making its way through his eardrums, and he can feel his cells dehydrating every second he lies here, face down in the sand. 

He’s still not sure what he’s doing, or how he got to be here, but Jim hasn’t survived this long in life without learning how to roll with the punches. He pushes himself upright, trying not to move his head too much. There’s no sticky-wet-itchy feeling on his neck, so he suspects he’s been cleaned up, which is great, because getting sand stuck in dried blood sounds like a recipe for infection. 

A ginger hand to the back of his head shows that there’s no open wound there. This would ordinarily be a good thing, but it immediately sets Jim on edge. A blow like the one he’d taken would have split skin at the very least. Even Bones’ best efforts wouldn’t lead to such a quick healing. 

When he looks, there are sandy dunes in every direction as far as the eye can see, in shifting, glimmering shades of red and orange. It’s beautiful, even if the heat is oppressive. The quick assessment of his environment is enough to make Jim think he’s on a standard desert planet. Or at least an M-class planet with a desert on it. 

He’s breathing easily with no immediate difficulties. That’s a good start. But the air smells different from what he’s used to on Terra, and certainly the air on the Enterprise; fresher maybe, but also a little bit metallic, like rusted copper. 

The thought of copper instantly makes him think of his first officer and one of his closest friends, Spock. They’ve come a long way from when they first met, an inauspicious meeting if there ever had been one. They’ve come so far that he’s pretty much expecting Spock to turn up behind him, the way he always does, any second now…

But nothing happens, and the desert remains as quiet and lifeless as it has been. Or perhaps not as lifeless as it seems. A tiny sand lizard scurries in front of his foot before digging down into the sand, vanishing into a presumably cooler burrow. It leaves nothing behind, save for a tiny zigzag trail in the sand, quickly erased by the wind. 

For a second, he’s envious. He wishes he had a cool underground burrow too. He can feel his skin heating up to dangerous temperatures, mere fractions of an hour from peeling straight off his face. 

Fleet protocol for abductions and/or waking up in unknown locations is to stay put until someone picks him up. Jim figures that that protocol doesn’t apply in the middle of a desert, where he’s likely to die of exposure before his people can locate him. This isn’t how he’s going to go, he knows this for sure. 

Jim hauls himself to his feet, grateful for the temperature resistant fabric that makes up both his shoes and the majority of his uniform; he has a feeling that if he’d been wearing anything else, he’d have been baked like a tray of cookies on a car dashboard in the middle of July. He makes a mental note of the metaphor, because Spock would probably like it. 

“As much as Spock likes anything, anyway,” he muses drily to himself. 

He’s already checked, but he checks again. He doesn’t have any of his devices tucked into his uniform; no scanner, no phaser, no tricorder, nothing. Even his tracking bracelet is gone, the one which Bones had asked him to weld in place around his arm. It wasn’t welded, of course, but that joint wasn’t one which could be removed using inferior technology. It was the next best alternative to a sub-dermal tracker, and he’d put his foot down before anyone could actually suggest it. He has a tendency to get abducted, sure, but he wasn’t going to get himself chipped like a puppy. 

Jim sighs deeply and then regrets it. He can feel precious moisture escaping on his exhale, and it becomes just that little bit harder to inhale on the next. Terran bodies just aren’t built for these types of temperatures. He knows he needs to get out of it, but Jim doesn’t even know in which direction he’s supposed to start walking. 

If this is anything like a Terran desert, Jim knows walking in the wrong direction would be a death sentence. 

He closes his eyes and resorts to his most primitive tool: his gut. It’s the only one that hasn’t failed him yet, the only one that can’t be taken away. His gut isn’t sure this time, but it tells him to go against the direction of the sun so at least the heat will be against his back instead of in his eyes. For some reason, he’s not too worried.

Jim has been a starship captain for almost three years now. He’s had more close scrapes with death than any normal person can possibly claim, except maybe his crew. But they could hardly be considered normal people either. He’s wriggled and wormed his way out of myriad sticky situations, and even when he’d been confident that they’d live to boldly-go another day, he’d been worried until everything was done, and not a moment earlier. 

Bones tells him the constant anxiety isn’t normal, that it’s something that can be treated with modern medication for a better quality of life, but Jim has never bought into the spiel. His anxiety - his gut - is what keeps him and his team alive. It’s the reason he sometimes turns right instead of left, the reason he knows whom to trust and whom not - even when alien body language can be totally, well, alien to his own. His gut is the reason he becomes hyper-aware when anyone is in danger. He’s not about to give up his ace card so easily. 

It’s worrying now, that he’s not worried. He knows what Bones thinks about his stance, but he wonders what Bones would think of him now. Could the man even diagnose a malfunctioning gut? What could possibly be the reason for Jim feeling no fear, even though he’s alone in a life-threatening situation, with dire chances of escape? 

He trudges onwards, feet sinking deep into the sand with every step, making his muscles work even harder to keep moving. His quads and his lungs are burning, but not as bad as _he’ll_ burn if he stops now. He’s both dreading and anticipating night fall. The cooler temperature will be a relief, but it’ll bring with it all the nightlife which has been hiding during the day. Chances are that it’ll be hungry. He needs to find shelter, and fast. 

He walks and walks and walks, and one sand dune melts into another and then another, an endless sea of sand, blowing into his face and his eyes. He’s not equipped for this, and it’s not great, but then again, he’s faced worse odds. He keeps his head down, focusing on the next step, looking up only every few minutes to check if he can see a dwelling or an oasis within eyesight. His mouth is parched.

And then, the third or fourth time he looks up, he sees a figure in the distance. It’s coming towards him. Jim wishes he could run towards it, like in one of those old Terran vids, but he doesn’t think his legs have the strength for it anymore. The moment he thinks it, he feels a violent tremor run through his knees, and he has to grit his teeth to keep himself upright. He’s good at ignoring his body’s signals, but once they override his control, there’s nothing he can do about them. 

So instead of dramatically running towards his (potential) salvation, he trudges onwards, slowly, trying not to display too much weakness. 

Of all the pathetic things that could happen, that’s when Jim trips on a rock, buried just under the surface of the sand. He lands on his knees just as the figure reaches him, clad in a loose dark robe. The person beneath the swathes of fabric is short, almost childlike by Terran standards, but Jim doesn’t want to assume. “ _Pacem_ ,” he croaks, holding his hand out in the ta’al, which has become a universal gesture of greeting after the destruction of Vulcan. 

The figure responds with the gesture, and dark eyes blink at him from within the shadow of the cowl. “Ah,” it says in accented Standard, voice high and childlike. “You’re a hallucination.” 

The only thing Jim can think of in response to that is, “I think that’s my line.” 

The person continues as if he hadn’t spoken. “My mother had warned me that dehydration could cause visual and auditory hallucinations. I had assumed that I would be immune to them, due to my superior ancestry, but it appears that my assumption was erroneous.” 

Jim isn’t sure but, “hey, are you talking to yourself?” 

It’d be just his luck to bump into a crazy person in the middle of a desert. 

The figure looks at him and Jim distinctly feels _judged_. “Considering that you are a figment of my imagination, I believe I am.” 

Jim can honestly say he never thought he’d be in a situation where he had to convince a person that he is, in fact, real. Though he supposes there’s a first time for everything. “I could ask you to prove that _you’re_ real because I know _I_ am, but before we get into the philosophy of what is real and what isn’t, do you have some water? I’ve been walking for hours, and I’m pretty dehydrated.” 

“I do not,” the person says, and Jim’s heart sinks to the very bottom of his feet. His mouth is so dry that his tongue feels like it’s sticking to his teeth. He’s not going to last much longer. And then suddenly the figure is moving. Jim tries to push himself to his feet to follow the person because he doesn’t want to be left here to die alone, but his body isn’t working. He’s about to open his mouth to beg - he’s not above it - before he realises that the person is only moving a few feet away and sinking to their knees. 

The person pulls a knife out of their robes, perhaps from a hidden pocket, and Jim is suddenly reminded that he’s utterly defenceless here, and at the mercy of a total stranger. He doesn’t even know what planet he’s on, or what species he’s dealing with. 

The person - Bob, Jim is going to call them - uses the knife to dig a short way into the sand, and then drops the knife to a side to reach down with their hands. A few seconds later, they pull out a large root of some sort. It’s round and greyish-brown, with a rind pattern that looks like a watermelon. Bob cuts the vine and gets to their feet, and then brings the root back to Jim. They sit down beside Jim and crack the rind open with their knife. “Drink slowly,” Bob says. 

Jim obeys. He has no way of knowing whether this fruit is poisonous for Terrans, or if he has any specific allergies to it. He honestly doesn’t care. He’s desperately parched, and the liquid that flows out of the root is cool and a little sweet, and it feels like heaven. He restrains himself to taking small sips until the root is about half-drained, and then hands it back to Bob. “Thank you,” he rasps. 

Bob looks down at the root which weighs less than it did when he handed it to Jim, and then back up at him. “You are clearly not a hallucination,” they comment, and Jim would have laughed if he wasn’t so tired. “Is that all you need?” Bob asks. 

Jim shakes his head. “Could do with a bit more, but I’ve saved the rest for you.” 

Bob shakes his head and hands the root back to Jim. “I am capable of finding another. You must drink this before your organs begin to fail. Though I admit I am concerned that you saw fit to wander into the Forge without adequate supplies, or seemingly any survival skills.” 

Jim accepts the root with a smile that stretches his painfully cracked lips. “Thank you.” He drinks, and then clarifies. “I didn’t wander here. I woke up in the middle of the desert - the Forge? I woke up here with no memory of how I arrived. I don’t have my equipment or my communication devices. I’d like to think I’d have been better prepared if I’d had any advance knowledge that I was going to be here.” He drinks again, pressing his tongue into the opening of the tuber to get the last few drops of the sweet liquid. He feels his condition improving almost instantly. 

“You are a member of Starfleet,” Bob says, more like a statement than a question. Jim still can’t see his expression, but he nods. His eyes are sore from the glare of the sun against the shifting sands, and the darkness of the cowl is too much for his senses, right now. 

“Can I ask, though. Where am I? Which planet am I on?” 

There’s another long judgmental silence. “You are on Vulcan. Currently you are a region of the Vulcan Forge, approximately 37.5 clicks outside the city of ShiKahr. You have come a long way, for not knowing where you are.” 

The last sentence is said like it’s a phrase or an adage, perhaps something that’s been lost in translation from Vulcan to Standard. That’s not what Jim is paying attention to. 

“Vulcan?” He whispers, not quite sure he’s heard right. “Did you just say I’m on Vulcan?” 

Bob pauses for a moment, as if assessing Jim’s question. “Was my diction unclear? Are you having difficulty hearing? We are currently on the planet Vulcan. Surely as a member of Starfleet you are aware of the planet Vulcan and one of the founding races of the Federation?” 

“I know what Vulcan is, Bob,” Jim interrupts. “I know—” 

Jim knows what Vulcan _was_. 

“My name is not Bob,” 

Jim ignores the slightly displeased note in Bob’s voice. There’s a bubble of panic building up in his belly, and he’s trying desperately to suppress it. “You speak like someone I know. What is your given name?” 

Finally, _finally_ Bob lowers his cowl, revealing a miniature bowl-cut, delicately pointed ears, and a twist of the lips that Jim would recognise in his sleep. “I am S'chn T'gai Spock. I would have your name in return.” 

“I’m James,” Jim replies on autopilot, stunned. 

His brain is racing through possibilities and scenarios at the speed of light. It’s not like he doesn’t already know that time travel is an option. 

“I’d give you my full name but I’m going to have to ask you to hang on for a second. I’ve just become aware of some facts which I’m not sure I can share.” _The facts being that he’s just met baby Spock_. God, if Bones was here, he’d bust a gut laughing. Jim isn’t sure he’s not going to start laughing, himself. 

If he’s really travelled back in time, how the _fuck_ is he supposed to tell baby Spock - he’s reserving his right freak-out about that later; Bones has restricted him to one freak-out at a time - that in what, twenty years time? His entire planet is going to go _kaboom_? And his _mom_? 

Baby Spock studies him with large dark brown eyes, and then nods solemnly. “You are either genuine or you are insane. In either case you are not a physical threat to me. Further, you appear to be psi-null, and I do not sense that you have any psi-abilities that could affect my mental balance. Therefore it makes no difference to me. You may accompany me.” 

Jim tries to tell himself that it’s not charming, the way Spock is so - so perfectly Spock-ish. Though, if _his_ Spock were around, he’d no doubt say something about how there’s no one else he could be, except himself. Maybe that’s another Vulcan saying that doesn’t translate perfectly. 

Spock waits pretty patiently, all things told, for him to gather himself. Jim apologises for his slowness once, and is informed the apologies are - Spock’s favourite word! - illogical and therefore unnecessary. 

“So,” Jim starts, once they’ve started walking again, albeit at a much slower pace than before. “How old are you?” 

He knows Spock’s birthday, so he can work out what year it is now, based on Spock’s age. Though Jim still isn’t sure if this is time travel or if he’s in some sort of coma. Or maybe he’d died from the blow to the back of his head, and this is heaven? Pretty unlikely, he’s got a thick head, but he’s been around enough to know there are more things in heaven and earth than can be dreamt in his philosophy, Jim. (That particular adage is always said in Bones’ voice. God, he wishes Bones was here.)

“I am seven years of age in the manner Vulcans reckon time. I am not certain how many Terran years that equates to.” There’s no question in the way Spock speaks, but somehow Jim knows he’s being asked to clarify or explain the point. It appears that Spock is deferring to his knowledge on Terran matters. 

Jim shrugs, as if there isn’t a small part of his brain that’s shrieking at the fact that this Spock is the cutest thing Jim has ever seen. “Seven years is good enough for me. If I remember correctly, one year on Vulcan is about 0.8 Terran years. I’ll just round it up.” 

Spock, even at this age, would never do anything so undignified as frown, but maybe he hasn’t learned exactly how to control his eyebrows just yet, and his eyes give him away. “That is inefficient and unscientific,” he says, sounding disapproving in an achingly familiar way. 

Jim shrugs again. “We’ve always got to strike a balance between scientific accuracy and efficiency. If I were taking your biodata, sure, guesstimating your age wouldn’t be advisable. Your exact age provides valuable information about your health and stuff. Right now? I’m more interested in the sociological aspect of your age. I need to know how I should treat you, because we’re probably going to have to work together to get out of here.” 

Spock considers this, and Jim can see the thoughts running through his mind, even though he can’t quite tell what they are. Even at this age, Spock is inscrutable. “‘ _Guesstimate_ ’ is not a real word,” he says, finally. Jim laughs. He should have expected that. All the same, it’s telling that Spock isn’t pressing the point, because he seems to have accepted Jim’s argument. 

Spock falls into his own thoughts as they trudge through the dunes, and it’s nice that he’s accepted Jim’s words at face value, but the silence gives him a chance to think. As Bones always says: thinking has never led Jim anywhere good. 

If Spock is seven years old, Jim is currently in the year 2237. But that’s entirely based on the assumption that this Spock was also born in 2230, like he was (is?) in Jim’s own timeline. It also depends on whether Jim has travelled back along his own timeline, or whether he’s travelled into a parallel one, where key milestones aren’t what he remembers them to be. 

On the _third_ hand (where’s an Edosian(FN1) when you need one) there’s no way for Jim to know that Spock’s birth is even a milestone to begin with. Even though Spock is pretty damn important to Jim _and_ Starfleet alike, Jim doesn’t actually know _why_ he’s been brought here. The motivations of whatever force have caused this are critical to Jim figuring out what he’s doing here, and how he’s supposed to get back to his own timeline, if at all. 

Jim can feel his own heart beginning to race, his pulse speeding up as thoughts whirl faster and faster in his head, jumping and skipping across each other and catching into one big snarl which is going to take him a long time to untangle. He shakes his head, and catches Spock watching him from the corner of his eye. He flashes a disarming smile at Spock, but it doesn’t seem to work if the skeptical lift of Spock’s eye is anything to go by. “Sorry, I’m just thinking,” he tries to explain. 

Spock nods and turns to face ahead, in a direction he’s selected without Jim’s input. It’s a little disconcerting, because his Spock usually turns to him to lead the way, but Jim knows this isn’t the same. 

The problem is, there are too many assumptions he’s got to question. He’s trying to do this the way Spock would, and it’s not working for him. There’s no use in trying to be rational when he doesn’t even have a basic understanding of the situation. He needs to do some serious fact finding before he can even start to check his assumptions. And until then, well. Until then, he’s got no choice but to trust Spock. 

“You should not make the error of treating me in the same manner as you would treat a Terran child of _approximately_ seven years.” Spock says ‘approximately’ like it’s a dirty word, and Jim is shaking his head before Spock can even finish his sentence. 

“I wouldn’t, Spock. Trust me, I know better than that.” He knows _Spock_ better than that. 

The sun is beginning to set and Spock stops in his tracks, turning to face Jim. Jim almost trips over his own feet in a stunning show of grace. The changing light lengthens the shadows cast by Spock’s face, setting his features in unearthly relief, and Jim feels his heart swelling up in his chest at the thought that he knows the man this boy will become. He knows this face as well as he knows his own.

“I have no reason to trust you, James. I do not know who you are, or why you are here.” And it doesn’t exactly hurt, because Jim doesn’t love the idea of Baby Spock going around trusting random adults, but… “Nonetheless I find that I am not suspicious of you. It is as though…” Spock trails off, staring down at his feet. It’s a tell he must have grown out of, at some point, and Jim regrets that this is the first time he’s seen it.

“Yeah?” 

“It is as though you are known to me, in some way. Though I do not know who you are, I _know_ you.” 

And doesn’t that just hit like a tonne of bricks to the chest. Jim honestly can’t find any words to respond, but it doesn’t seem to bother Spock overmuch. He swallows back the lump in his throat and nods at Spock, trying to tell him wordlessly everything he wants to say, and to assure him that Jim would die before he hurts Spock. Before he hurts Spock _again_ ; least of all this miniature version of him, so small that if Jim picked him up, he wouldn’t even notice the weight.

Spock nods back, placidly, and the heated flash of emotion Jim had seen in his eyes has been carefully hidden, but it’s different now that he knows it’s there. Spock sinks to the ground, crossing his legs, and Jim blinks at him in confusion. 

“What are you doing?”

“It is dangerous to travel after nightfall. There are many dangerous creatures that come out of their lairs. This is a more defensible location.” Jim looks around and has to agree. They’re sitting a short distance from a craggy rock formation that looks like a decent shelter, but he’s pretty sure if they’ve noticed that, any number of animals must have noticed the same thing. Sitting directly underneath it would be pure folly. 

Instead Spock has selected a spot a little way away, which will afford them a little protection from the wind but won’t leave them open to being cornered by hungry animals. 

Jim watches as Spock pulls some items out of his bag; a knife, a small brown-paper package, a flint, a small handful of kindling. “You’re very well prepared,” Jim says, lightly. 

Spoke looks up at him, as if to check whether he’s being sarcastic. He nods when he sees the sincerity on Jim’s face, but doesn’t reply, like he’s not accustomed to being praised. “I would be considered poorly prepared by the standards of my kin.” He stops, and begins to fuss with the kindling, like maybe he’s expecting censure, or perhaps he’s said something he wasn’t supposed to. 

“Poorly prepared?” Jim asks, and doesn’t make the obvious comparison between Spock’s state of preparation and his own. “I don’t know, I think you’ve planned well. Any failings are easily attributable to lack of experience,” he says, like this isn’t something his own Spock has told him countless times, every time a mission went wrong. 

Spock blinks and nods, seemingly comforted. It seems like a good segue, so Jim takes the chance to ask: “Forgive my ignorance but - why are you here?” 

Spock strikes the sharp edge of the flint against another stone once, twice, three times before a fire catches, and he stuffs the kindling into a small vase before the brisk wind can extinguish it. “What do you know about Vulcan traditions?” 

God, and isn’t that just a loaded question? What the galaxy knows about Vulcan traditions couldn’t compare to even a hundredth of the cultural wisdom and knowledge that had been lost with Nero’s destruction. Jim has some advantages, because he knows a single Vulcan - and quite well, he’d like to think - but that hardly makes him a well-spring of information on Vulcan traditions. 

He shrugs, deciding to be honest. “Hardly anything. The one Vulcan I know, I’d like to think I know him well, but we don’t exactly talk about traditions - either Vulcan or Terran.” 

Spock accepts this, with little expression. “What do you know about Kahs-wan?” 

Jim has a passing familiarity with the language, but he doesn’t know this word. He shakes his head. 

“It is a traditional test of maturity for Vulcans,” Spock explains, slipping into what Jim often thinks of as his lecture mode. It’s like he’s drawing the information from some inner well of knowledge, and he’s always enjoyed listening to Spock - his own Spock - when he does the same. It’s surprisingly adorable coming from this young one. “When we are twelve, on the cusp of physical puberty, a young Vulcan must make their way out into the desert to test their survival skills. It is not only a test of one’s physical ability, but also of their resilience in the face of harsh environmental conditions.”

Spock pauses and looks up at him through his eyelashes, as if he’s waiting for Jim to comment. Jim mentally rewinds through the explanation and freezes. “You’re seven.” 

“I am seven,” Spock agrees, but doesn’t elaborate. 

This is a tactic Jim is familiar with. He’s not so easily stonewalled. “And if you’re seven years old, and you’re supposed to undertake the Kahs-wan when you’re twelve, it sort of begs the question... what are you doing here?” 

“If I had not been present,” Spock says, unwrapping the brown paper package and offering it to Jim, cupped in both hands, “you would have surely perished.” 

It’s remarkable how familiar these arguments are, to him. “Sure,” he says, accepting a piece of what looks like fruit leather from the package in Spock’s hand, “that’s entirely likely. But that doesn’t explain what _you’re_ doing here, still. You said Vulcans have to be twelve years old to do this thing, or pre-pubescent. Don’t get me wrong, but you don’t look pre-pubescent.” 

“It is unlikely that you have any knowledge of what a pre-pubescent Vulcan looks like,” Spock replies blithely, picking up a piece of fruit leather and tearing a chunk out of it with his perfectly even teeth. “Let alone someone of my unique circumstance.” 

Jim is pretty sure he knows what ‘unique circumstance’ Spock is talking about, but he doesn’t suspect anyone else would, or could. He remains silent, and Spock goes quiet too. “But you are right, James. I am not where I am supposed to be. For you see, I am not purely Vulcan, only half.” 

He trails off, as if he’s waiting for Jim to respond. 

Jim doesn’t, just watches Spock carefully and quietly, with no expression on his face. It seems to calm Spock more than any simple platitude would have. 

“I have always been treated differently from my peers, although I match or outperform them consistently. All because my blood is not as green as theirs, I am considered less capable and less valuable, not only by my classmates but by my teachers and would-be-mentors as well. I am alone in this world. The only one of my kind.” 

Spock doesn’t speak like any other seven year old Jim has ever met. But then, he never did speak like anyone else Jim ever met. He probably never will. It’s comforting to know that his Spock is forever and uniquely himself, but that doesn’t mean Jim doesn’t ache to hear the loneliness in Spock’s voice, the desolation of thinking that he is the only one of his kind, doomed to be forever misunderstood. He can only imagine how much worse it becomes after the destruction of Vulcan, and it’s both strange and shameful that he never thought to ask. 

If he ever does get back to his own timeline, he will. He’ll make sure that his Spock isn’t as lonely as this Spock is, now. He takes a bite of his own fruit-leather and considers it. No matter how much he wants to offer Spock a hug, he will restrain himself. Spock does not like hugs, and Jim will not condescend. “And so you decided to undertake your Kahs-wan early, to prove yourself worthy compared to all your peers?” 

Spock nods, and even in his expressionless face, Jim can see a glimmer of surprise that he hadn’t criticised or commented on the wisdom of Spock’s decision. He doesn’t need to. He's sure Spock already knows how unwise he’s been, the magnitude and the foolishness of the risk he’d taken. 

“Yes,” Spock confirms. “I researched the methods of those who had emerged from their trials most unscathed, and thought to mimic them to the best of my ability without assistance from my parents.” 

“I’m not judging you,” Jim starts after a moment, “because I’ve done far stupider things for less noble or dignified reasons, when I was younger.” Say, six months younger. “But has it occurred to you that maybe the purpose of the Kahs-wan isn’t to test your physical abilities, but your mental ones?” 

Spock tilts his head, brown eyes catching the low light of the fire between them. It’s a surprisingly puppy-ish action, and one which Jim cannot imagine an adult Spock doing. He wonders when Spock left this habit behind. 

“So, I’m looking at this as an outsider, alright?” 

Spock nods, eyes intent.. 

“Here are my base assumptions. Vulcans are highly logical creatures.” 

Spock nods again. 

“Vulcans have superior strength and endurance compared to iron-based life-forms.” 

It’s a fact. Spock nods.

“Vulcans become stronger as they age.” 

This is, unlike the others, a little-known fact, but not so obscure that Jim knowing it would be impossible. Spock only hesitates for a second before he nods again. 

“Despite their physical abilities and endurance, Vulcans prize themselves on a higher form of intellect, governed by logic rather than emotions.”

Spock nods and Jim stops speaking. He holds up a finger in the almost-universal symbol for ‘just a moment’, to gather his thoughts. Spock does, watching him with dark liquid eyes, taking another bite of the fruit leather and passing the package back to Jim. 

“So perhaps the point of the Kahs-wan is to test your wisdom rather than your physical abilities. To test your resourcefulness and whether you’re able to keep your calm in the face of unknown challenges, or whether you know how to use the environment around you to your own benefit.” 

He stops for a moment to let Spock consider his words. He doesn’t nod, not yet.

“For example, if you were older, you might be better equipped to assess your own abilities, to know whether you should fight or run, or something like that. I mean, it doesn’t make sense that this is an objective test, if the conditions are not equivalent. A Vulcan who does their Kahs-wan in the summer might have a harder time than one who does it in the winter. Does that mean the one who succeeds in winter is less able than the one who survives in the summer? The only way this makes sense is, if it is a test of your intellectual growth. Of the wisdom gained with age, and not your physical strength.”

Jim knows that what he’s saying is probably a bitter pill to swallow, if Spock doesn’t spit it out immediately. God knows, Jim himself would have taken it personally, just like he’d taken every other difficulty in his own life, all the way until Pike had sat him down and explained the difference between a competition and an assessment. Spock at least, seems to be listening to him. 

“If what you are saying is true, why would it not be explained? Why would the true purpose of the Kahs-wan be hidden?” 

“Well, maybe because that’s a part of the test too. To know whether you’re ready for the test or not, to know your own failings and strengths as they may be.” 

Somewhere, some _when_ , Pike just sat up in a cold sweat. 

“Then I have already failed,” Spock says, and Jim immediately wants to retract his pseudo-wisdom. Who does he think he is, of all people, to be giving soul crushing cultural life advice to Spock?! He shakes his head and resists the urge to reach out to the kid. 

“No, Spock. I’m not saying that. I’m saying that maybe you weren’t ready for the test? Why should there be any shame in not being ready, especially since it’s meant for older kids? You don’t have anything to prove, because it’s not a competition.” Oh, if he could say these things to his younger self and not have them spat back in his face; maybe his life would have been easier...

Spock nods his head, but he’s staring down at his knees and he looks utterly dejected. Jim can’t claim to have spent a lot of time with young children, but it stinks that he doesn’t know how to help his best friend. The child who will one day become his best friend. _Spock._ “My Lady Mother would not have let me come, had she known. Perhaps it is because she is better at assessing my abilities than I am.” 

“Wisdom is an adult thing, Spock. I guess it comes with experiences. Younger people have a harder time because they don’t have any basis for comparison. It’s not a failing, it’s just a function of age. Also, if your mom is anything like the moms I’m thinking about, she wouldn’t have wanted you to come even if she thought you were ready for it.” Spock has spoken of Lady Amanda often enough that Jim gets the sense she’s a good mom, and she loved Spock very much, though he can’t let on that he even knows who Spock is talking about. 

“Perhaps my Father would have known how to prepare better for such an expedition.” Spock looks up at Jim through his eyelashes, like he’s about to say something he’s not sure about. “I fear that if I had asked him for his assistance, he would have thought less of me.” 

Jim honestly can’t tell why Spock is so hesitant to say this, or why he’s so worried about Jim’s opinion. God knows he’s had a bunch of authority figures whom he’s disappointed time and time again in his own life, but Spock doesn’t know that. Spock doesn’t know him from Adam, but he’s still waiting for Jim’s judgment, like his opinion means a damn thing. He’s never known his own Spock to care, either way. 

He figures there’s only one way to respond to that. “Well if you ask me, there’s no shame in asking for help, Spock. I learn something from every question I ask, and if it keeps me alive for another day, I’m not going to cut off my nose to spite my face. That’s a lesson I learned a long time ago.” A lesson he’d learned from Spock, as a matter of fact. 

Spock - _his_ Spock - would be proud that Jim didn’t even hesitate to ask baby Spock for help. Then again, his Spock would probably think baby Spock is smarter than Jim anyway.

“There is wisdom in this,” Spock says after a long moment. “My good mother has said so as well.”

“She sounds like a smart woman.” 

“She is,” Spock says, and then, quietly, “I wish she was here with us, now.” Jim grins at Spock, but he doesn’t have the chance to answer before Spock is on his feet, so quickly that Jim almost didn’t see it. Jim gets up too, ignoring the exhaustion in his limbs, keeping low and not turning around. 

“What do you see, Spock?” 

Spock keeps staring over Jim’s shoulder. He doesn’t blink. “I saw movement. There is something out there, behind you. A large animal, most likely a predator. Its eyes flashed in the darkness.” His voice drops to nearly a whisper. “ _Tapetum lucidum_.” 

“Any idea what kind of stuff lives out here that’s nocturnal? Could it be a curious vegetarian?” Jim asks, without much hope. 

Spock shoots an incredulous glance in his direction and Jim takes that as a resounding ‘ _no_ ’. 

“Alright. Here’s what we’re going to do,” Jim starts, keeping his voice low. But then he sees Spock’s eyes go wide and knows their time has run out - there’s no time for a plan. He uses his half-crouch to jump over the small camp-fire, turning on his heel so that he’s in between Spock and whatever native animal is looking for its dinner. 

He gets the impression of grizzled brown fur and a giant paw coming towards his face, and he’s braced for impact when -

Spock shouts and Jim’s momentum sends him sprawling backwards onto the ground, staring up at what looks like a terran brown bear, its dinner-plate sized paw suspended mid-air. It takes a lumbering step towards him, and Jim doesn’t know whether to focus on its saber teeth or its six-inch long talons. They’re not going to be able to outrun this thing together. 

“Spock,” he says, his heart racing, “back off slowly and get away. I’ll hold it off as long as I can.” 

“That,” Spock says, sounding unexpectedly calm (even for a Vulcan), “is not necessary.” He dashes towards the bear before Jim can scramble to catch him, and then he’s petting the bear on its face and scratching behind its ear. 

“Spock, that’s a wild animal,” Jim says, “please step away.” The bear makes a deep growling purr and then slumps to the ground, like it’s trying to disprove Jim’s words by pretending to be nothing more than a happy housecat. 

Spock shakes his head and turns to look at Jim, and he knows even in the low light that there’s a smile in Spock’s eyes. “This is not a wild animal. This is I-Chaya. I-Chaya is my father’s - and my - sehlat. I-Chaya, this is James, he is a friend.” 

Jim considers asking if Spock is sure, but… well. He looks confident. And now that the sehlat isn’t looking at Jim like he’s its next meal, it looks surprisingly amenable to having its ears scratched by Spock. He carefully gets to his feet, not making any sudden movements. I-Chaya may love Spock, but Jim is under no illusions that if I-Chaya takes a chunk out of him, there might not be anything Spock can do about it. 

“I’m assuming you weren’t expecting our guest?” Jim asks, brushing his hands against the back of his pants. His palms are sore and he feels horribly naked without his phaser. 

Spock shakes his head, seemingly not noticing Jim’s discomfort. “No. My father must have asked him to track me down by scent. I-Chaya is implanted with a tracker chip. My father will be here soon.” 

For someone who’d basically run away from home, Spock sounds pretty relieved about the fact, and it makes Jim feel better too. While his Spock had been downright chatty about his mom (compared to every other subject Jim had pried into), he’d rarely said anything about his father. It made Jim think there might have been problems there. It’s nice to know that in a tough spot, Spock still trusts that his dad will bail him out. It’s a good sign. 

Jim waits for Spock to settle down, half-under I-Chaya’s giant paws, before he sits down too, on the other side of the fire. It gives him a good angle to study the animal, to observe how comfortable Spock is around it. Baby Spock is so eloquent that Jim had _almost_ forgotten he was talking to a seven-year old, but it’s thrown into sharp relief now. He looks tiny beside I-Chaya, and incredibly relaxed, like he knows he’s on the home stretch. Jim wants to take his cues from Spock, but in his experience, the home stretch is exactly when Murphy’s Law will come into play. God, he hopes it doesn’t. 

Spock presses his face into I-Chaya’s haunch and then draws back, wrinkling his nose. “You will need to be bathed, once we are home,” he announces, and Jim can’t quite hide his grin. “After which you may have a treat.” 

“How old is he?” Jim asks, noticing that one of I-Chaya’s fangs is broken at the tip. 

“I-Chaya is older than I am. My father purchased him from a breeder when my brother was born, but Sybok did not bond with I-Chaya. My father took care of him, because it would have been irresponsible to return him merely because my brother did not wish to have a pet. When I was born, I am told I-Chaya treated me like his own cub.” 

“You have a brother?” Jim asks, faux-casually, because this is the first time he’s ever heard of Sarek having another child. 

Spock hesitates and then nods. “Sybok is… different. My father says we may not speak of him, anymore.” 

That’s like dangling the forbidden fruit in front of Jim’s face and expecting him not to take a bite out of it. It’s unnatural, but for Spock, he’ll try. He shrugs as sincerely as he can and smiles at Spock. “That’s alright. For what it’s worth, I have an older brother too. But usually, I’m the one they don’t talk about in polite company. I understand. We used to have a dog like I-Chaya, too, once.” 

Spock’s ears perk up and his eyes brighten. “Like I-Chaya?” The sehlat opens a lazy eye to look at Spock, but closes it when he realises he’s not being addressed by Spock. 

Jim shakes his head. “Kinda like I-Chaya. Maybe one-third the size? One-fourth? Ben was a scruffy old sheepdog. She was old when I was born, but she was faster than me and my brother put together, and that’s no mean feat. She kept us in line when no one else could.” He can’t quite keep the fondness from his voice, and Spock looks like he can hear it too. 

“What happened to her?” Spock asks, gently stroking I-Chaya’s ear, studying Jim intently. Jim tries to think of a nice way to tell the kid that Ben had once gotten between him and Frank, that she hadn’t come out of that scrape alive, and he’s _almost_ grateful when he hears a rumbling sound behind him. 

_Almost_ , because at first he thinks it’s the sound of a moving vehicle, until he realises that it’s not regular enough. It’s too... _organic_. He doesn’t want to turn around, but he has to. He doesn’t have a choice. What are the odds of him getting snuck up on _twice_ in one night? Bones would say he’d been cursed. “Spock,” he starts to say, even though he’s not sure what he’s going to say next. 

He doesn’t get the chance because whatever it is hits him square in his back, so hard that he flies forward and lands on the ground. It’s all he can do to turn around before the weight of the thing is on top of him, snarling and stinking in that way all true carnivores do. It’d probably taken only seconds, but it feels like eons pass as Jim stares into the face of death, certain that he’s not going to get out of this one alive, standing between a monster and a beloved child, just like Ben all those years ago. 

“Le-Matya!” Spock shouts, which sounds like nonsense until Jim realises that that’s what the thing is called. He’s seen the databanks of information on the creatures that went extinct with Vulcan; a Le-Matya’s toxic saliva would kill you if its giant claws didn’t. It would be a pretty horrible way to go, but he can’t afford to think like that - not when Spock would probably be next. He doesn’t know how he’s going to protect Spock though, with the scaly beast pinning him down to the sand. 

But before he can even start _trying_ to pull a plan out of his ass, the Le-Matya is gone, and suddenly he can breathe again. In the dim firelight and half-blinded by panic he’d missed it, but when he pushes himself to his feet, he can see I-Chaya on top of the beast a small distance away. Too small a distance for comfort. I-Chaya must have jumped over him and shoved the Le-Matya off him. 

“Spock, behind me,” Jim commands, and Spock moves even though both of them know that Jim’s body would be no obstacle for a determined Le-Matya. 

In the distance, the Le-Matya snaps its teeth, unhinging its jaws like a snake to lengthen its reach. It’s apparently unsettling enough to make I-Chaya back off, or perhaps he’s clever enough to know that he has to stay out of bite-range too. But I-Chaya doesn’t give up much ground, facing the Le-Matya with his back to Jim and Spock, growling far more threateningly than he’d growled at Jim. 

The stand-off won’t last, and Jim needs to even these odds. “Do you know of any weaknesses? Fire?” 

Beside him, Spock nods decisively, and Jim figures he’s got one shot to pick up the fire pot and throw it at the Le-Matya. They’ll be in the dark after that, and god knows how cold it’ll be, but at least it’ll buy them some breathing room, even if he burns his hand off. 

The Le-Matya seems to gather its courage and swipes at I-Chaya, its long claws affording it an advantage. I-Chaya can’t strike back without getting within range of the Le-Matya’s poisonous-looking teeth, and Jim can already see how this is going to play out. This is not going to end well for either of them. 

Of course, that’s when I-Chaya _screams_ at the reptilian creature and careens at it full-tilt, plowing into the Le-Matya with the flat of his head. The Le-Matya tumbles backwards and swipes its claws at I-Chaya again, and Jim sees the exact moment when they sink into I-Chaya’s shoulders, because he releases a pained moan and Spock makes a dash for I-Chaya from behind Jim’s back. 

Some instinct in Jim makes him throw his arms around Spock, planting his feet as solidly as he can in the shifting sands and keeping Spock back. He only lets go when the Le-Matya slithers off in another direction, away from the camp. Though knowing Jim’s luck, it’s just going to double back and come up behind them. And now… 

Spock skids to his feet next to I-Chaya and puts his hands on I-Chaya’s fur. Jim wants to tell him to be careful, to warn him that injured animals - even pets - sometimes don’t take well to being handled. But I-Chaya croons at Spock, and then noses at his face as gently as Ben had, when she’d known she was dying. 

“I-Chaya,” Spock whispers, and throws his arms around the creature. It’s the most human gesture Jim has ever seen him make, both in this timeline and in his own. It’s also probably one of the most heartbreaking. He wants to comfort Spock, but he also knows that sometimes there’s nothing to be done for grief other than to let it pass. No number of hands on Spock’s shoulders are going to repair what they all know is happening. 

Instead, as he always does, Jim does what he can. He crouches down on top of I-Chaya and presses his hands against the wounds to stem the blood flow. It won’t make a difference, but he’s beaten the odds before. I-Chaya makes a pained noise, but doesn’t move, and in his gut Jim knows the injuries must be worse than they appear. 

He’s so caught up in the tragedy playing out in front of him that he doesn’t hear the vehicle until it’s almost on top of them - he’s three for three tonight. So much for spatial awareness.

Spock hears it too and gets to his feet instantly, scanning the area for headlights. When he sees a pair, he starts waving. His actions are not frantic, they’re composed and controlled, in stark contrast with the tear tracks running down his cheeks. Jim wants to wipe them away, because he doesn’t know who’s coming and the Vulcans he’s met wouldn’t look kindly on such things, but he doesn’t want to imply to Spock that it’s wrong to be upset. Maybe his own Spock will remember this some day, and Jim doesn’t want that to be the lesson he taught, if he teaches anything at all. 

As the vehicle comes closer, Jim can see it’s a single armoured truck. “Do you know that vehicle?” he asks Spock, because as much as he wants it to be their salvation, he knows that it might well be the opposite. His guard is going to remain up until he’s sure they’re safe. 

“Yes,” Spock nods confidently. “That’s my father.” Jim won’t rest easy until he sees Sarek step out of that car. All things said and done, he doesn’t think there’s a single universe where Sarek wouldn’t resort to cold-blooded murder to protect his child. Jim’s not going to let Spock out of his sight until he sees Sarek. And he’d probably be the best person for Jim to explain his situation to, as well. 

Of course, that’s when he starts feeling something strange in his stomach, a sort of churning sensation, moving quickly to his head and making it feel like he’d just been spun around like a top. His gut lurches like he’s going to throw up and Jim staggers backwards and away from I-Chaya’s body, catching Spock’s attention immediately. 

Jim doesn’t know what his own face is doing, but Spock’s face goes pale and distressed, like he thinks another person he knows is going to die here tonight. Jim wants to wave a reassuring hand at him, but he needs both of them to keep from collapsing face first into the sand. 

“Are you alright, James?” Spock asks, shaking his shoulder gently. Jim wants to nod, but a high-pitched whistling sound erupts in his ears, drowning everything else out, sending spikes of agony into his brain. Spock’s mouth continues moving and the shaking intensifies, but Jim can’t hear anything anymore. The sound is cutting straight through him. 

“I’m fine -” Jim starts to lie, but when he blinks and opens his eyes, he’s lying in medbay on the Enterprise, and his stomach isn’t hurting anymore. 

“Like _hell_ you are,” comes a familiar voice, accompanied by the sounds of movement, of files and metallic instruments and miscellaneous items being moved around. “Honestly Jim, why do these things always happen to you?” 

Jim can still feel the phantom sensation of Spock’s small hand on his shoulders. If he looks, he imagines he’ll see reddish Vulcan sand under his fingernails, but there’s nothing there. His nails are clean and regulation-short, and his hands are dry and uninjured, and his lips aren’t chapped from the desert heat. It’s as if he’d never been there, like the entire thing had been a figment of his imagination. 

But it had felt so _real_. 

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Bones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Edosians (aka Edoans) are a race of sentient tripedal beings. Edosians have an orange complexion, two yellow eyes, three arms and three dog-like legs.


	2. Part II: The Second (2249)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You won’t choose wrong. You can’t. That’s the point, Spock. You’re the architect of your own destiny. This is your timeline. Whatever you choose is the right choice. And I - you’re too important for me to want to risk affecting your decision.” Jim wants to promise him that they’ll meet eventually, but he can’t - he just doesn’t know that they will. He doesn’t know what’s going on with this time-travel thing - all either of them can do is make the decision that’s best at each point in time. Right now, he can’t alter Spock’s destiny. It’s not his place. 
> 
> Jim is - and should be - no one to a nineteen-year-old Spock.

It says more about Jim than he’d like, that he instantly knows he’s not in the hospital. He doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know it; he knows by feel that he’s not lying on medbay sheets. 

Unfortunately, there isn’t enough sensory information to tell him where he _is_ , and he knows better to give away the fact that he’s awake so easily. 

But long moments pass with no alarms or warning sirens, and he figures it’s safe enough to announce that he is still - despite the universe’s best attempts - alive. 

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself lying on a bed in a well-lit room. The walls are made of a dusky sand-stone, and the windows are covered with a light, translucent linen. There’s a cool breeze coming through the open window. It’s a far sight nicer than he’d been expecting. 

“You are awake.” The voice is faux-emotionless, as if Jim can’t hear echoes of tension rippling underneath.

Of course. He should have expected it. Jim turns instantly to find Baby Spock - but less of a baby and more like _his_ Spock now - watching him. His eyes are hotter than Jim has ever seen, like burning coals. He’s pissed. 

“Hey,” he croaks. His voice is shattered, his vocal cords shredded. God, he hopes he hasn’t been screaming. That would be embarrassing. “You’re older,” he comments, because he never did get out of the habit of trying to fill silences with nonsense. 

“Indeed,” Spock says. The fire in his eyes cools slightly, but it does nothing to lessen the prickling tension between them. “That is a consequence of linear time, James.” 

Hah, if only Spock knew how untrue that was. Though Jim does have to admit, even though he’d been badgering his own Spock to call him by his first name, there’s something weird about hearing it from this junior version. This baby Spock looks more likely to haul him up on disciplinary charges than do any of the things _Jim_ wants Spock to do (like hauling Jim up against other, sturdier surfaces, though he’s smarter than to indulge in wayward fantasies). 

There’s another beat of silence, and Jim only metaphorically bites his tongue, because he’s still cringing from the memory of pain and doesn’t want to inflict any more on himself. 

“You are in pain.” It’s an observation, spoken like a fact. Jim nods carefully. There’s almost no distinction to the mind between actual pain and the memory of pain. “But you are not physically injured. You are no longer physically injured,” Spock corrects himself. Jim nods again. “I did not know that homo sapiens had accelerated healing systems. I do not see any indicators that you have been implanted with Orion nanotechnology. Explain. Please.” The last word is tagged on like a concession, either in deference to Jim, or to Spock’s own mother. It’s really not fair how endearing it is. 

He weighs the odds. There will be consequences for telling Spock the truth. He doesn’t know what they are, but he knows this for a fact, something will inevitably turn up to bite his ass. In any case, he can’t think of any other explanation he could give, that Spock would accept. He’s always been too smart to buy what Jim is selling. 

And if he’s really stuck here for real this time, he’s learned this lesson before. It’s always better to tell Spock the whole story from the beginning. Young or old or ancient or mustachioed (which would be weird), Spock always helps.

Still, he hesitates. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, Spock. Absolutely stark raving mad.” 

Spock looks at him solemnly, and there’s - for once - no analysis in his gaze. Jim doesn’t feel like he’s being broken down into his component parts. He’s just looking, a little like how Spock Prime used to; purely for the sake of it. “After you disappeared into thin air in the middle of the Forge twelve years ago, there were times when I believed I, too, had hallucinated the incident.” 

Jim shakes his head. “No, that was real. I remember it too.” 

Spock’s expression is mild now, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I believe that a figment of my imagination is fundamentally bound to corroborate its own existence. Though, I am convinced that you exist, even as I begin to doubt my own sanity. No one else recalls seeing you.” 

Which figures. 

Jim had actually poked around a bit, after he woke up in the medbay after the whole desert-sehlat-le-matya-time-travel incident. 

He’d asked Spock a couple of nosy questions and he was pretty confident that his Spock didn’t remember anything about him being there. Which means that either Jim had been tripping balls while he was in a medically-induced coma, or… or something had happened to make Spock forget. The latter hadn’t been an appealing thought, but he could think of nothing else. 

“I’ll tell you what I can, if you answer three questions for me.” Spock exhales through his nose, which is the equivalent of a sigh for him, and he tilts his head ever so slightly to a side in acceptance. Jim grins, or at least. He tries to. “What year is it?” 

“It is the Terran Year 2249. I am precisely nineteen years and seven months old by the way you reckon time. Your lack of knowledge as to the year is concerning.” 

“Isn’t it just,” Jim mumbles and scrubs at his face. “Alright. Cool. You’re nineteen. Have you–” 

Jim is about to ask if Spock has joined Starfleet yet, but realises just before he speaks that maybe that’s a choice Spock hasn’t made yet. This is one of the few stories he’s actually heard about Spock’s adolescence, of how Spock had basically turned his back on hundreds of years of Vulcan tradition and history because a bunch of stuck-up purebloods had insulted his mom. 

Jim, for one, thought that was as good a reason as any to stick it to the Man (Vulcan?), but most people wouldn’t have agreed. Hearing Spock’s story for the first time after the destruction of Vulcan had made Jim believe that maybe the two of them would be able to find common ground after all. 

The experience must have been a huge turning point in Spock’s life. If he hadn’t joined the Fleet, he’d have been on Vulcan when Nero attacked. Jim doesn’t think either of them would have survived the ordeal, without each other. Hell, he doesn’t think the _Earth_ would have survived, if not for Spock’s actions. It doesn’t bear thinking about. 

But it’s not a question he can ask until he figures out what the hell is going on, and whether he’s going to affect his own damn timeline if he’s not careful. He bites his lower lip, trying to analyse the potential consequences one way or the other, but there are just too many variables, too many unknowns for Jim to make any sense of the situation. 

He looks up to find Spock looking at him, and he realises it’s been a while since he said anything, and they’ve just been sitting here in silence. “Sorry.” 

Spock doesn’t respond, but Jim doesn’t think he’s annoyed, so that’s alright. He takes a quick breath. “I-Chaya? Was he alright?” 

This is another question to which he knows the answer, because he’d immediately called Spock Prime to ask as casually as he could, whether the older man had ever had a pet. He’d ostensibly asked because he wanted to get a pet for himself, but he wouldn’t do it if Spock was averse to small and fluffy animals. I-Chaya hadn’t been small, but he had been terribly fluffy, and Spock Prime had warned him about how I-Chaya had died defending his life, without going into much detail. Jim is capable of connecting the dots. 

Asking Spock now will help to verify that this is a parallel timeline and not an alternate one. The distinction, Jim has learned, is _critical_.

Spock exhales lightly through his nose, as close to a sigh as he ever gets. “No. I-Chaya succumbed to his wounds mere minutes after my father arrived. My father was… kind enough to bring him with us on the evac, even though he must have known at first glance that I-Chaya would not survive.” 

Even though this confirms what Jim wanted to know, there’s a difference between knowing that Spock’s beloved pet died defending them, and hearing it for himself. Jim can’t explain it, but there is. “I grieve with thee,” he says, almost instinctively. Spock looks like the last thing he’d expected was to hear a traditional Vulcan salutation from Jim, but he’s always been full of surprises like that. 

“Thank you.” 

A mere moment passes before Spock cuts through the awkwardness like a hot knife through butter, because he’s good like that. “I still desire an explanation, James.” 

“Right. Yes. My third question.” This is the most important one, but Jim tries not to show his apprehension. It’s messing with his brain, because he trusts his Spock, and this Spock looks almost exactly like his own, but there was definitely a difference between the Spock who stood beside his Captain’s chair and watched his back, and the one who’d had him hauled up on charges of academic dishonesty. Though the physical similarities might drive Jim mad. “What did you see when I disappeared? Because I woke up exactly where I was supposed to be, and no one seemed to have noticed I’d been gone.” 

Spock studies him. “You do not appear to have aged,” he says, which is almost a non-sequitur, but not quite, not in this context. Jim doesn’t meet his eyes. “You will forgive me if my memories are imperfect. I met you almost twelve years ago, and I have been informed that it was an objectively traumatic event.” Jim just nods. “It was shortly after the Le-Matya fled. You and I were crouched over I-Chaya’s form and you were attempting to stem the flow of blood from his wounds, though there were far too many for you to cover with your hands. You did not appear to hesitate, though you were surely aware that a Le-Matya's claws are coated with a neurotoxin.” 

Jim shrugs. I-Chaya was Spock’s beloved pet. What was he supposed to do, just let him bleed out? It would have been unthinkable, especially when I-Chaya had been wounded while trying to defend Spock. It was a cause Jim could definitely get behind.

“I heard the sound of a vehicle driving up the dunes and I stood up to wave, so that we might flag the driver’s attention. I was reasonably certain that it was my father, tracing the signals from I-Chaya’s tracking chip. When I looked back down, you were surrounded with golden sparks, much like a transporter beam. You did not seem aware of the sparks, but when I attempted to attract your attention, it was as though you could not hear me. You remained still for around four-point-five seconds before you became translucent, and then disappeared. Your disappearance was not accompanied by any sounds or smells, there was no electrical discharge in the air, you did not leave so much as a bloody handprint on I-Chaya’s fur.” 

Jim blinks, taken aback for a second at the sound of Spock swearing, before he realises that from Spock, ‘bloody’ is a description and not an expletive. He nods, because there’s really nothing else he can say. 

“I did not tell my father that there had been anyone else at the scene. I doubted my own recollection, and my father would have thought me a liar or a fool. It was safer to keep my own counsel.” 

Jim can’t blame him. He wouldn’t have believed it himself, if it hadn’t been his own damn experience. 

“I didn’t tell anyone either, for what it’s worth.” 

Spock inclines his head in acknowledgement of Jim’s admission, but they both know it’s not enough. He’d been planning to tell Spock some facts while judiciously omitting others, but that doesn’t seem fair now. 

“I’m warning you, this is going to sound insane.” 

“I will reserve my judgment until I have heard your version of events. After all, I too feared a similar reaction from my family and peers.” Jim nods, accepting comfort where it is offered. He doesn’t know this version of Spock as well as he does the other two, but he thinks maybe his compassion is a universal constant. 

“What do you know about time travel?” He asks, remembering the first time he’d asked his own Spock the same question, bracing himself to be laughed out of the room.

To his credit, Spock actually thinks about his answer. “I know that it has not been successfully achieved by any of the parties attempting it. I know that it is considered to be impossible by any number of scientific authorities, for a number of reasons, not in least the state of technology available to us at this time. I know that there is a famous Terran treatise published in the late 18th century which expounded on what is now known colloquially as ‘ _The Butterfly Effect_ ’. You may have to be more specific, James.” That Spock knows an awful lot about a lot of things goes unspoken. 

Jim sighs and scrubs a hand across his face. “What if I told you that time travel will one day become possible?”

“Is this a rhetorical as to whether you will tell me this, or is the rhetorical about time travel itself?” Now, Spock’s just being pedantic. Jim groans.

“Okay wise guy, I’m telling you. One day, time travel will be possible. One day,” Jim takes a deep breath, “a Romulan ship from the future - for reasons which I can’t get into right now - will come back in time to the year 2233. That’s the year I was born. I became the captain of the starship U.S.S Enterprise in 2258, under very unusual circumstances.” 

Jim tells him everything. 

Well, almost everything. Kinda. He carefully tiptoes around the fact that Spock is his first officer, which leaves a few oddly shaped holes in his story, but it is what it is. He’s not going to take the risk of creating a universe-ending paradox by telling present-Spock about future-Spock, especially before present-Spock has even decided to join Starfleet. 

Spock can tell there are gaps in his story, but Jim just shrugs. He’s just not willing to take the risk, and Spock is just going to have to live with it. 

They have to stop half way when Jim’s stomach starts growling. Spock insists that they eat, because half the story has already happened and the rest of it has not happened yet, and will not occur in the 30 minutes it will take them to replicate and consume a meal. His logic is, as always, impeccable. There’s something fantastic about being fussed over by Spock. It’s different from being fussed over by Bones, or anyone else. There’s no fluttering, no censure, no overwhelming concern. They never mean to, but unlike the others, Spock never makes Jim feel awkward or guilty about it. 

After a lunch of grilled cheese and tomato soup - and thank god for Amanda instilling Spock with a taste for human comfort foods - Jim picks up where he left off. He’s careful to avoid certain details and Spock knows it. He doesn’t press though, for which Jim is grateful. At this age, Spock won’t be so easy to distract as he’d been when he was seven. 

He tells Spock about the latest disaster that had befallen the Enterprise; one in a series of increasingly difficult missions that they’d been assigned by a vengeful admiral whom he refused to name. The last thing he wanted was for this young, angrier Spock to pick a fight with a total stranger based on something they hadn’t yet done. 

Though, that would be incredibly illogical, wouldn’t it? 

“I’m alright, though. The crew is alright. We always are, in the end.” This is a lie. Jim can remember every single crew member he’s ever lost, every single red shirt and ensign and aide, because he hadn’t been fast enough or smart enough or _good_ enough. The bridge crew was alright, this time. It doesn’t mean they’ll always be, if Jim remains captain. 

Spock studies him and although it’s almost certain he knows Jim is lying, he doesn’t say anything. “Long story short, the incident in the Forge? That was last year, for me. We were on shore leave and a - uh, hm. A group of hostiles ambushed us on a friendly, unoccupied planet. Someone hit me across the back of my head, and then I woke up in the desert.” 

“Was your shore leave on or near Vulcan?” 

Jim grimaces. “Negative. We were in the beta-quadrant, almost 20 light-years from Vulcan. We could have covered the distance at warp, but there’s no way to explain how I then woke up on the Enterprise, as if nothing had happened.” 

“Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth,” Spock muses, making Jim grin. It’s an adage which both his Spock and Bones had been fond of; a commonality which infuriated both of them to no end. 

“Yeah,” he says, instead of saying anything foolish, or incriminating. “You know you’re going to have to keep this to yourself.” Spock shoots him a withering glance, and Jim grins at how familiar it is. “So what are you up to, at nineteen?” 

“You speak as though you know me,” Spock observes, refusing to let Jim change the topic. 

Jim tries to keep his smile up, but he’s not sure he succeeds in hiding the panic in his eyes. “Do I?” 

“Please do not insult my intelligence,” Spock says, calm as anything. 

“I’m not, Spock. It’s just. I’m not sure if I should say anything. I don’t want to mess anything up. Your choices shouldn’t be affected by my knowledge of the future. I don’t want you to look back and forever wonder whether you’d have made the same choices if I hadn’t spilled the beans, y’know?” 

Spock considers this. “So we are acquainted, in the future.” 

Jim resists the urge to rub his face. He can’t tell if there’s a way to tell Spock things, without also risking their lives and timelines. He supposes there’s no way to put that cat back in the bag. He nods. “We’re friends.” 

Spock is silent for a long minute. “You were aware of this when we met in the past.” It’s not a question. 

“Yeah,” Jim sighs. “Not at first, obviously, but when you introduced yourself, yes.” 

“And my future-self has not informed you that we met when I was seven years old?” 

Jim shakes his head and chances a look up at Spock, whose brow is furrowed, though Jim can’t tell if he’s angry or frustrated or concerned, or all three at once. 

“It may be that this is an alternate timeline,” Spock suggests, though he doesn’t sound like he believes it. 

“It’s pretty hard to draw that conclusion, Spock. The existence of alternate timelines is an even harder pill to swallow than the existence of time travel.” Though some of the stuff Old Spock - Spock Prime - said had made Jim think that it wasn’t all that far-fetched after all. But that isn’t something he can tell _this_ Spock. He _really_ doesn’t like the thought of punching a hole straight through the space-time continuum. “Also, I checked with my Spock.” 

Something strange flashes across Spock’s face, an expression Jim can’t identify, but it’s gone as quick as it appeared. Spock doesn’t acknowledge it, so Jim doesn’t either; it’s only polite. “He said he’d done the Kahs-wan when he was seven, and his pet I-Chaya had saved his life, too.” 

“Is he aware that you have travelled back in time?” Spock asks, his voice just a touch cooler than it had been moments ago. 

Jim shakes his head. “No, I’m not risking it. I’m the last person people would accuse of over-thinking, but there’s just too many variables, too many unknowns.” 

Spock is quiet for a moment, and then, “I do not know your full name.” 

Jim blinks. And then he winces. It’s true. He hadn’t told Spock his full name at any point, mainly because the thought that Spock had _known_ who he was even before he’d hauled him up before a disciplinary tribunal hurts, and he doesn’t want it to be true. The only thing that’s worse is the thought that something happens between now and then to make Spock forget, and he doesn’t know which alternative is worse. 

“I’ll tell you my name, but I’ve just got one request.” 

“A condition?” Spock asks, a little sharp. 

Jim shakes his head. “No, just a request. For my sanity’s sake. Please don’t look me up. Not because of any paradox nonsense, but because, well. If I exist in this time, and everything's how I remember it to be, the Federation will have put flags on my files. Any unexpected searches will probably be flagged.” 

“And even though in your own time I did not appear to know you, you will not explain the reason behind this,” Spock says, like he’s asking Jim to confirm a hypothesis. 

“I just don’t want you to get into trouble. Can you even imagine? If the Federation caught you searching for my files, and I’m a person of interest, it’d mar your reputation too, and you wouldn’t even be able to explain why you’d been looking for me. It’d be a nightmare.” 

Spock looks - well, he doesn’t look like anything, but there’s a quirk to his lips that Jim reads as disappointment, and he gets it. He really does. But the alternative to not knowing is, in this case, worse. He can’t take the risk. Neither of them can. “I will honour your request.”

Jim tries a smile and deliberately relaxes his shoulders; this Spock will grow up to be Jim’s best friend. His word is good enough for Jim. “My name is James Tiberius Kirk. Jim, to friends.” 

He extends a hand to shake before he remembers that Vulcans don’t shake hands - and for good reason - but before he can take his hand back, Spock shakes it once, firmly, before releasing it. There’s a spark of something in the back of Jim’s mind, but it’s gone before he can place it. “Jim,” Spock says, like he’s tasting it, and for the first time since Jim landed here, Spock looks like a teenager; young and curious and unburdened by years of stress, trauma and grief. He shook Jim’s hand like he’s never touched anyone’s hand before, and the thought is a little baffling, but Jim doesn’t pursue it. 

“It’s good to meet you again, Spock.” 

“And you,” Spock says politely, and that’s finally enough to break the wall of tension that had been building since Spock had said he didn’t know Jim’s name. 

“So, now will you tell me what you’ve been up to?” 

Spock leans back into his chair and studies him carefully. “I have just completed the entrance exam for the Vulcan Science Academy. If I am granted admission, I will commence my higher education at the VSA within fourteen days.”

“That’s great,” he lies, and tries _really hard_ to keep a straight face, though he’s not sure he succeeds. “I bet you’re going to kick their asses.” 

“You do not know whether I attend the VSA in your timeline?” Spock asks, coolly, like Jim isn’t about to set himself on fire to escape this conversation. He’s never been good at lying to Spock; in fact the first and only time he’d pulled it off successfully was on the bridge of the Enterprise, when he’d provoked Spock into a murderous rage. 

“Uh,” Jim says eloquently, “I do. But I’m not sure I should say.” 

“I have already submitted my papers,” Spock rationalises. “There is nothing left that I can do to change the outcome.” Jim winces. “Is there?” Spock sounds curious, but also like he’s half-tempted to remove Jim’s arm and beat him with it if he doesn’t spill. Jim’s not unfamiliar with the expression. 

“Well, okay. I guess I can tell you that you’re granted admission. Not like there was any doubt they’d want you, you’re a freaking genius.” 

“I. I thank you for the compliment.” Spock sounds like he doesn’t know what to do with that. 

“No problem.” 

There’s a moment when they’re both silent. “You will not disclose anything further,” Spock says, and this time it’s a statement of fact and not a question. Spock is really good at knowing what Jim is going to do, it seems, even before they meet for the first time. 

“I can’t, Spock. I’m sorry.” 

Spock does that thing which isn’t exactly a sigh, but it _is_ a sort of an exhale, like he’s exasperated with Jim but he’s not going to say it out loud. It’s so familiar that it makes something inside Jim _ache_. “Very well. I… am not pleased, but I cannot say that your motivations are inexplicable.” Jim shrugs slightly, because yeah, well. “Perhaps you can tell me more about yourself, without disrupting the space-time continuum? Perhaps telling me about your childhood pet would not change the course of history?” 

Jim snorts. Such sass. “Sure. Ben. I told you about her last time, right?” Spock nods. “She was a scruffy old sheepdog. Belonged to my dad, when he was a kid.” Jim carefully avoids revealing any details about his father, which might give him away. “My dad was with the Fleet too, y’know? But before he enrolled with the academy, he lived with his parents on a farm on Earth. His parents were the old fashioned type. I’ve never met them myself, but I was told that they resisted Terran involvement in intergalactic matters. Said that Terrans had enough problems of their own to be dealing with, without getting involved in alien business. Sometimes I wonder if they had a point, if all the other races out there wouldn’t have been better off without us. But that’s neither here nor there.” 

Spock is listening intently, and if Jim closes his eyes he can almost pretend he’s talking to his own Spock, who listens in exactly the same way, with his full focus and his entire body, like no one has ever listened to Jim before. It makes Jim want to talk about things he’d sworn he’d never talk about again. 

“But anyway. Growing up with his parents made going to space the forbidden fruit. At least, that’s what Bo- that’s what our ship’s CMO calls it. They realised that the more they talked about the evils of space travel, the more my dad wanted to do it. They got him a sheepdog when he turned twelve. They thought it would keep him grounded, that he’d give up on all his dreams of leaving the farm and leaving Terran soil, because of Ben.” 

Jim forces himself to relax slightly, back into his seat. It’s a nice story and all, but talking about his parents is never easy. At least, Spock seems to be taking it alright so far. He doesn’t have any pre-conceived notions about the great love story of George and Winona Kirk. 

“Ben was a puppy when they got her. Not a purebred but enough sheepdog in her to be distinctive. My dad fell in love with her, and she needed a vet, so he borrowed someone’s car and drove a hundred and fifty miles to the nearest city to find a good vet. The vet had a daughter, a couple of years younger than my dad. She named the dog Ben because she didn’t know it was a girl, and my dad liked the vet’s daughter so much that he didn’t have the heart to correct her. So the name stuck. And fifteen years later, the vet’s daughter graduated from medical school and joined the Fleet, and my dad joined with her, and the rest was history. Or at least, it will be history, eventually.” 

Jim stares at his own hands, his fingers laced together in his lap, to avoid making eye-contact with Spock. He knows Spock isn’t that type of telepath, but he can’t help but feel sometimes like Spock can read his mind. 

“You speak almost as though you did not know your own parents.” 

And that - 

What the hell is Jim supposed to say to that? He wants to shrug, but he can’t imagine how infuriating that would be for Spock, even if Spock didn’t admit it. 

“I didn’t, really. My dad died on the day I was born, and my mom…” He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, so he shrugs instead, and hopes that Spock understands what he’s trying to say. 

“I see,” he says, and Jim thinks he actually does. Spock’s communicator chirps and Spock glances at it. “My father is on his way. The VSA has decided whether I will be granted admission to the academy.” Jim holds his breath. “Will you not give me a hint? If I am to meet you in my own timeline -” Spock cuts himself off, even though Jim kinda wants to know what he was going to say. He takes a deep breath and tries again, making unflinching eye-contact with Jim. “I do not wish to choose an option that leads to a different future. I cannot - _will_ not risk choosing incorrectly, Jim.” 

Spock sounds as distressed as Jim has ever heard him and it turns his stomach. Spock should never sound like this; it’s not right. He shakes his head - Spock has missed the point. 

“You won’t choose wrong. You _can’t_. That’s the point, Spock. _You’re_ the architect of your own destiny. This is _your_ timeline. Whatever you choose is the right choice. And I - you’re too important for me to want to risk affecting your decision.” Jim wants to promise him that they’ll meet eventually, but he can’t - he just doesn’t know that they will. He doesn’t know what’s going on with this time-travel thing - all either of them can do is make the decision that’s best at each point in time. Right now, he can’t alter Spock’s destiny. It’s not his place. Jim is - should be - no one to a nineteen-year-old Spock. 

There’s a knock at the front door and both of them turn to look at it in unison. Jim’s stomach swoops unpleasantly, and at first he thinks it’s just nervousness at the thought of meeting Sarek (again?). But then nausea builds up at the back of his throat and he realises that what he’s feeling is not normal. They both stare in the direction of the door in silence, before Sarek knocks again. 

“That’s your father,” Jim says, redundant. Spock nods. “I think I’m going, again.” Spock blinks, because the sentence is almost nonsensical until he remembers the last time this had happened. The knocking intensifies, and Jim feels his heart speeding up. There’s a green flush in Spock’s cheek that shows he’s as happy about this development as Jim is. 

“What does it feel like?” Spock asks, a tinge of desperation in his voice; an emotion Jim only recognises because he knows Spock better than most. 

Jim shakes his head. “Like a blender in my guts. Doesn’t matter. Just remember, whatever you choose, I’m proud of you,” he says, forcing the words out, because it’s suddenly, _overwhelmingly_ important that Spock knows that. Spock doesn’t know what are the choices in front of him, but when the situation does present itself, it’s vitally important that he knows that Jim will have his back either way. Even if this Spock goes to the VSA, someway, someday, they’ll meet, and it’ll be fine. It will work out. It _has_ to.

There’s no alternative, and Jim doesn’t believe in many things, but he believes in this. He wishes he could promise Spock. 

Spock is watching him intently, and it looks like he’s going to put his hands on Jim’s shoulders and hold on to him, when his head jerks up towards the front door, like someone has called his name. Jim can’t hear anything, except the same high pitched whining he’d heard last time, almost like the sound of a transporter powering up. 

Also like the first time, it happens too quickly to process. One moment he’s sitting there in front of Spock, watching his warm brown eyes flood with concern, and the next, he’s waking up in medbay, hurting like he’s been beaten all over his body with a stick. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jim swears. There’s no one around him to chastise him for it. He hopes Spock is - was? - okay.


	3. Part III: The Third (2256)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Jim’d had just one chance to meet _that_ version of James Kirk, he wouldn’t have been able to turn it down. There are so many questions he wanted to ask, even if Jim Prime couldn't answer all of them. So many thoughts he could have shared with himself, that he hadn’t dared to share with anyone else, not even Bones. He could have asked just once, what it would take to be loved by his own Spock, the way Spock Prime loved the other Jim.

Jim’s heart is still pounding when he wakes up. 

It’s beating so hard he feels it might burst right there, lodged in a crevasse half-way up his throat. His skin is burning and every inch of his body is screaming in agony. He’s void of everything except for pain. He drifts, because it is easier than facing the reality of his existence. 

Awareness snaps into place when he hears the sound of a door closing. 

Spaceships don’t have doors, and the last thing he actually remembers is the phantom heat of Spock’s skin through the glass wall of the reactor chamber. The reactor chamber on a spaceship. _His_ spaceship. The Enterprise. _Spock._ He clenches his fist and almost flinches when he feels fabric between his fingers. 

The bed sinks as someone sits beside him, but it takes him a long time to open his eyes. His nerves are still braced for agony shearing through them like a scream echoing through a canyon, gone but hardly forgotten.

He manages eventually, and finds Spock sitting on the bed beside him. It’s not his Spock. He’s almost there, but he’s too young, still. This is the other Spock, the younger one, whom Jim seems to be visiting on a semi-regular basis. This Spock is at once both harder and softer than his own Spock, but in different ways. Perhaps less polished by age, but still achingly familiar. 

“Once again,” he says, like they’re halfway through a conversation Jim doesn’t remember, “you return to me injured.” Spock’s eyes are expressive, as always, but that doesn’t mean Jim knows what he’s expressing. There’s a whole new language to Spock that he’s only beginning to learn, and now all that might be over before it even began. Not to mention, he thinks _this_ Spock might not even have learned that language himself, yet. It’s an odd thought that he knows better than Spock, how he’ll turn out. 

A lump begins to build in his throat. Watching him die must have been horrifying for Spock. _His_ Spock. He hopes he hasn’t just left him like that, forever. He hopes Bones is looking after him, _when_ ever they are, compared to Jim. 

Jim tries to smile but even his face hurts, like his muscles aren’t used to that sort of movement. The last two times, even though he’d been injured in real-time, he’d always arrived in one piece - more or less. It’s different now. He feels like he’s been run over by a bus. Maybe this time he’s messed up so badly that he won’t be able to get back. 

He’d deserve it, for the way he’d handled the whole Khan debacle. Something of this must show on his face, if the expression in Spock’s eyes is anything to go by. 

Spock’s hand lands softly on his forehead and Jim is expecting the touch to be hot, several degrees above terran body temperature, as hot as Spock usually is. Instead, he’s cool enough to send a shiver down Jim’s spine. 

Or else, Jim’s the one running hot. 

He awaits Spock’s judgment, which doesn’t take long. “You are not feverish. However your eyes are glazed over. You will tell me the circumstances of your departure from the continuum, James.” 

This Spock only uses his proper name when he’s serious, but Jim shakes his head. He’s beyond exhausted. He’s been awake for over seventy hours, pushed to the edge of his physical limits, and if his suspicions are correct, he’s just died. He _had_ died? He _is_ dead? He _will be_ dead? Time travel, or whatever the heck this is, wreaks havoc on the tenses. But the one constant that remains is; Jim is tired. Spock doesn’t need to know what happened to him. There’s nothing he can do about it. It’ll only hurt him. 

“We’re on Earth,” Jim observes instead, “but when are we, now?” 

Spock’s lips press together into a thin line, a rare expression of displeasure - not that Spock would ever admit it. 

“This is the Terran Year 2256. I am twenty-six Terran years of age. We are in San Francisco. It is the month of December, and the temperature is 8 degrees-Celsius outside. Do you have any other queries that I might assist you with?”

 _Such sass_ , Jim thinks, unable to stop the fond smile from spreading across his face, despite his stinging muscles. “Well, I can’t pretend I haven’t been worrying about why you - my version of you I mean, you know, in my timeline - can’t remember any of this, when you clearly remember the last two times we met.” 

The little furrow in Spock’s brow deepens and he shakes his head. “I admit, after you told me that my older self was not familiar with you when we first met, I was… concerned as well.” It’s a sign of how much this Spock trusts him that he even used the word ‘concerned’. Jim does him the courtesy of not rubbing into his face the fact that he’d just admitted to having an emotion. 

“Yeah,” he agrees instead, because there’s nothing else he can say. He’s been worried about it, too, and neither of them have answers to the question. Yet. “Wait, did you say it’s 2256? I think we’ll meet for the first time in 2258, if everything stays the same.” 

Yet another unknown expression crosses Spock’s face, changing the curve of his lips and the angle of his dark eyebrows. Even Jim, who thinks that he might know Spock best, can’t tell what it is. His forehead creases and for a second, Jim sees a flash of something that looks like fear in his eyes, before it vanishes as if it had never been there. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, even though he knows that’s not the right question. 

“May I share this space with you?” Spock asks in return, instead of answering. 

It’s a simple question, but it stuns Jim. 

In his experience, Spock is like the cat who walks alone. He treasures his solitude, save for when he wants company, and then he is perfectly capable of being social. Or at least, what passes for social in a Vulcan. And even then, Spock is _not_ a touchy sort of person. He doesn’t enjoy physical contact, let alone seek it out. For him to ask Jim to share his _bed_ is… unusual, to say the least.

“Yeah, of course, but - are you feeling alright?” 

Spock’s brow furrows but he nods silently. Then he lies down on the bed beside Jim, and Jim almost vibrates out of his skin. Jim can’t resist the urge to reach over to him and press a hand against his forehead, the way Sam used to when he was a child, the way Spock had done only minutes ago. It’s not like he knows the base temperature of a twenty-six year old male Human-Vulcan hybrid, but he doubts Sam ever knew what his forehead was supposed to feel like either. It was more of the thought, the touch of a cool hand against his forehead. Concern and reassurance for both parties in turn. 

Spock’s eyes flutter shut and he exhales deeply, his head sinking deeper into the surprisingly soft pillow, a matching set with the one Jim is lying on. Jim feels his anxiety ratchet even higher; Spock has slept on the floor to avoid sharing space with Jim, before. This is shockingly atypical behaviour. 

“Hey Spock, do we need to get you to a doctor?” he asks, when Spock shivers slightly under his hand. Jim’s own body hurts but he gets up anyway to look for the temperature controls. On Vulcan he’d have been lost, but at least on Earth he knows what it’d look like, a small off-white panel built into the wall with a digital display. When he turns around, Spock is watching him.

“Have I made you uncomfortable?” Spock asks, his voice particularly emotionless; a sharp contrast from his supine form, his fingers laced casually on his stomach. 

“Me?” Jim asks, hearing his own voice strain. “I’m fine, Spock. It’s just that, well. You don’t normally _do_ physical contact. Not any sort of casual contact which is not strictly necessary for work, let alone lying down on the same bed. Not with me.” 

“Are you speaking from experience?” Spock asks, and the question throws Jim. Maybe this time he’s just landed in a straight-up parallel universe, one where Spock was raised as a human instead of a Vulcan. That’s the only thing Jim can think of to explain his uncharacteristic behaviour. What the hell kind of question was that? 

“I’m not sure I understand, Spock. Will you be more comfortable if I turn up the temperature?” The wall panel indicates that it’s a balmy twenty-seven degrees in Spock’s apartment. Jim can probably afford to turn it up another degree or two before he starts sweating through his own clothes, but maybe that’d make enough of a difference to snap Spock out of it.

Spock shakes his head. “I would be more comfortable if you returned here, to be by my side.” 

Jim tamps down hard on a shiver that threatens to run down his spine. Spock doesn’t seem to be watching him too closely, but if Jim knows anything at all, he knows that Spock is perfectly aware of where he is, what he’s doing, his every reaction. It feels like being watched by a benevolent predator, or maybe a house cat, who knows that he is superior to you in every way, but deigns to keep you around anyway. 

He gathers his courage, nods, and staggers back to the bed where Spock is lying, still watching him without looking. He’s barely put his head on the pillow when Spock turns his entire body to face him, his hand coming to rest on Jim’s forearm. Jim stares at it sideways, incredulous even though he knows it makes him look like a moron. He can’t help it. Maybe this time, he really died and ended up in heaven. He doesn’t know what bizarro timeline this is, but it can’t be real. This doesn’t feel like Spock. 

But it is. 

Jim knows without having to ask that this _is_ Spock, though perhaps he is not the Spock Jim has come to know, and love. 

“Have I made you uncomfortable?” Spock asks again, making no move to remove his hand. 

Jim thinks about it carefully and then shakes his head. “No, but I think you’re not in your right mind. Spock would never touch me like that.” 

Spock’s fingers tense and relax on his upper arm, a reaction which Jim knows he is being permitted to see. Spock has nothing less than iron control over his own reactions; only an amateur would have such an obvious tell, and Spock is not an amateur. 

“I find myself,” he says, voice cool and even like Jim isn’t hanging off every word, “increasingly jealous of this other Spock, whom you claim to know so well. Would that I could correct your erroneous beliefs of what I would and would not do. It is evident that _your_ Spock,” and Jim can hear sheer disdain in Spock’s voice, “has been remiss in clarifying exactly what I do and do not wish to do, regardless of whether _he_ acts on his desires.” 

Jim finds himself speechless, and it’s definitely something he’s becoming used to around Spock, but not like this. Nothing could have prepared him for this. Still, he’s gotta say something. “It’s not some other person, you know? It’s literally you. I don’t think you can even be jealous of yourself,” he says, though he knows it’s a lie even as he says it. 

He knows his Spock had been jealous of Spock Prime from the very instant they’d met, though Jim hadn’t personally been around to witness that first meeting, thanks to Spock Prime’s orchestrations. It’s a jealousy that followed them until Spock Prime passed away, and it had been one of the biggest points of contention between Jim and his own Spock. 

If he’d had the chance to meet _his_ Prime, the version who’d known his father, who’d lived a somewhat more conventional life, the one whom Spock Prime had loved so devotedly - well. 

If Jim’d had just one chance to meet _that_ version of James Kirk, he wouldn’t have been able to turn it down. There are so many questions he wanted to ask, even if Jim Prime couldn't answer all of them. So many thoughts he could have shared with himself, that he hadn’t dared to share with anyone else, not even Bones. He could have asked just once, what it would take to be loved by his own Spock, the way Spock Prime loved the other Jim.

He’d been upset with his Spock for the longest time for squandering that chance, until Bones had reminded him that Spock - his Spock - was different from Jim. Their life experiences were incomparable. His Spock had probably had all the well-meaning advice he could stand, from his own father. His Spock probably hated the idea of predestination, of someone telling him how his life could, or ought to be lived. 

Bones had pointed out with surprising wisdom that what was a comfort for Jim might have been a noose for Spock. That’s when Jim had decided to let it go. It was enough that his Spock regretted Jim’s grief, if not the root cause of it. 

“Have you never been jealous of your past self? For his innocence or for his freedom?” It’s such an oddly poetic question that it makes him blink, yanking him out of his thoughts. Spock is philosophical, sure, but he’s not prone to waxing poetic. At least, not that Jim knows. Then again, it seems like he’s learning a lot about Spock that he didn’t know; that he didn’t _think_ existed, to know. 

He shakes his head and turns slightly so that he’s facing Spock too. He’s careful not to dislodge Spock’s hand on his arm. Lying in bed beside Spock is still one of the most surreal experiences Jim has ever had, and that’s saying something, considering the life he’s lived. “I’ve never been jealous of my past self, because I didn’t come from good places, Spock. I’d do almost anything to avoid going back there, or back then. My life now is better than I could ever have dreamed it would be.” 

“Where are you, now? The version of you who is mine? Where have you gone, since we last met?” There’s something about the phrasing that sends thrills down Jim’s spine, but he’s not afraid. Spock has hurt him before, but never intentionally, and certainly never without provocation. Jim can’t deny that the possessiveness is… not unwelcome. 

“Well,” Jim reins his thoughts back before they go spiraling in all directions. “In 2256, I was twenty three years old. Or, I am. Your version of me is twenty three years old.” Spock’s eyes close when Jim starts talking, and he looks so peaceful that it takes all of Jim’s self control to not reach out and touch Spock’s face. “Some stuff happened to me a couple of years back, and I’m probably not having an easy time of it. I’d gone off planet for a bit but things got hairy, and by the time I got back, my mom had remarried this guy that she’d been dating before I left. We didn’t get along.” 

He lets the words convey a wealth of meaning as he stops to consider what he wants to say next. Spock’s eyes remain closed and his breathing is slow and regular, but Jim knows Spock is awake. He can almost feel Spock’s attention on him, like a physical thing. If he tries, it almost feels like he’s sitting beside his own Spock, but there are too many subtle differences for the illusion to last long. 

“I ran away from my mom’s house. Took my ID, a handful of credits, a communicator that I’d fixed up off-planet. I had nothing but the clothes on my back. I _escaped_. Didn’t plan on going back.” As joyful as the freedom had been at that time, Jim doesn’t much like thinking about those days. He’d paid a heavy price to get out from under Frank’s thumb. 

“Life wasn’t easy. I turned eighteen but I didn’t have any qualifications, or any skills that would’ve helped me get any legal jobs. I wasn’t using my real name either, because I was terrified someone would be able to track me down if I did. Eventually, in 2255, it happened. I was twenty two, I think. A couple of days after I turned twenty two. Someone - a guy who once knew my dad - found me picking fights in a bar. He convinced me that a good way out of the rut would be to join Starfleet.” He laughs, and Spock opens his eyes. He doesn’t look sympathetic, which is good, because Jim thinks Spock’s pity would have broken him. 

“And so you joined Starfleet?” 

“And so I joined Starfleet,” Jim confirms, on an exhale. “And the rest, is history. Or it will be.” 

“You said that when we last met, as well,” Spock notes. 

“Did I?” 

“Do you regret joining Starfleet?” The question is almost startling, but Jim can see where Spock is coming from, or perhaps where he’s going. Fuck time travel, anyway.

He shakes his head, and then shrugs. “I don’t regret the good I’ve done. I don’t regret the people I’ve met. But I’ve made my fair share of mistakes. I’ve lost people, too. I regret that.” 

Spock is silent for a long moment. “When we met last, were you aware that I would reject the VSA?” 

Jim nods, because that’s in the past now. It’s not like Spock can do anything to change it, so there’s probably no harm in telling him that Jim had known. 

“I have only been afraid a few times in my life, Jim, and standing in front of that committee was one of those instances. Do you know why?” 

“Because they were a bunch of racist dicks who could have ruined your future if you said the wrong thing?” If he spends even a second marveling over Spock’s admission of fear, Jim is going to lose his train of thought, but he’s not ready for this conversation to be over. He likes this open and vulnerable version of Spock, even though it’s a little unnerving. That’s not to say he doesn’t like his normal stoic Spock either, though it’s probably concerning just how _much_ Jim likes his first officer. 

Spock shakes his head. “This is not the reason. My only fear was that I would make the wrong choice, and that our paths would never cross again. It was a greater motivation for my choice than the thought of disappointing my father.” There’s a long moment of silence, because Jim doesn’t know what to say or how to respond. “I have become overwrought. I apologise.” His voice is flat, and he sounds anything but overwrought, but Jim can recognise upset when he sees it. 

“No, Spock. Don’t apologise. I’m sorry, I don’t know -” Jim takes a deep breath and opts for honesty. “The thought of a universe in which I don’t meet you is horrible for me, too. You’re one of my closest friends and I - I don’t know what I’d do without you.” There are so many words he wants to say, but it’s not right. This isn’t the right person to be saying them to. He takes a deep breath. “I care for you, Spock. You’re important to me.”

“I had hoped this was the case. The only question outstanding is whether we are compatible for something greater than brotherhood, or friendship.” 

Jim swallows his own tongue and sits up quickly so he doesn’t choke on his own spit. There’s no way he can respond to that, truthfully. There’s just no reasonable answer he can give. He _loves_ Spock, but not in the way he knows Spock is talking about. He can’t lie, because Spock would smell the lie on him a lightyear away. _This_ isn’t the Spock he loves. 

He’s not meant to be here. His own Spock doesn’t remember meeting Jim in the past. He’s not meant to be here. Every time he thinks he’s got a handle on this time-travel shit, something like _this_ happens. 

“Spock, I don’t think you’re yourself, right now. I know you hate being compared to the other Spock,” Jim is careful to avoid the possessive, “but I don’t think you’d ever say something like that, to me.” Or to anyone really - Jim can’t even imagine Spock saying it to _Nyota_ , and they’re _dating._ “We’ll always be friends, I swear it. Are you alright?” 

Spock ignores Jim’s attempt at diversion and sits up too. “You have not answered my question. I will admit that these are not ordinary circumstances, but I must have your answer.” 

“What _are_ the circumstances, Spock? Explain them to me.” Jim isn’t going to commit to anything before he figures out what’s going on here. Because something _is_ going on. No Spock, in _any_ universe, would ever act like this. He thinks the Spock he knows would cheerfully _die_ before asking Jim such a question.

As if he can hear Jim’s thoughts, Spock clicks his tongue in exasperation. “Will you let me show you? These things are not spoken of, aloud.” His fingers part into the ta’al and he brings them towards Jim’s face. Jim rears back and Spock’s face falls. Jim can feel the situation spiraling out of control. 

He shakes his head and tries to explain Spock can pretend he hadn’t just been hurt by Jim’s refusal. The air between them has gone thick suddenly, almost syrupy and hot. “The last time I melded with someone, there was a lot of emotional transference.” He can still remember the feeling of Spock Prime’s fingers on his face, as gentle as feathers, the heat of the connection between their minds in sharp contrast with the chill of Delta Vega around them. He’d felt Spock Prime’s fingers on his face for months after, like he’d been branded. 

Spock looks like he’s swallowed a lemon. Jim briefly considers making a break for a communicator or a computer - maybe he can call an ambulance, or Fleet medical, even though his presence would be a nightmare to explain. Spock’s well-being is more important than whatever bullshit the Fleet puts him through for accidentally time travelling. 

“You have melded with another Vulcan before? _Your_ Spock?” he asks, his voice dripping with so much disdain that he doesn’t sound like himself anymore. “You would share such intimacy with him and still claim that you are only _friends_?” 

Jim’s train of thought runs off the tracks and explodes into a fiery wreck. Jealousy would have been one thing. This is something entirely else. The intensity of Spock’s gaze would have been overwhelming, if not for the underlying expression of despair. 

“Okay, so I’ve clearly missed something here, Spock. Some sort of nuance that no one’s told me about.” Jim takes a deep breath, and watches Spock mirror him subconsciously. He does it again, the tension in Spock’s shoulders easing with every subsequent breath, until he almost looks normal again. “Will you explain what you’re talking about?” he asks, releasing his own posture until he’s sitting on the bed with his knees tucked under his chin, and his arms wrapped around the curl of his legs. 

Spock closes his eyes and exhales through his nose, but when he looks at Jim again, his gaze is clear. “A mind meld is _very_ intimate, James. Arguably it is the most intimate experience a Vulcan can share with any sentient creature. Before Surak, there was almost a religious connotation to melding, in that it was an act reserved only for the closest kin, or bondmates. Do you understand?” 

Jim nods, and tries not to make any subconscious assumptions about what that means. “Not casual, and definitely not a convenient method of information transfer.” 

Spock’s nostrils flare and he grits his teeth, visibly. “Is that what _he_ told you?” 

Jim shakes his head, and then shrugs. Spock Prime wasn’t _his_ Prime, but if he told _this_ Spock that he’s the _third_ version of himself that Jim’s met, he definitely won’t take it well. “It was more of an implication in the middle of a crisis, and we didn’t have much of a choice. Anyway, it wasn’t him. Spock, I mean. This isn’t you.” 

Spock shakes his head and visibly deflates. “I am aware.” He brings his hands into his lap, in the most studied semblance of calm Jim has ever seen. “There is some information which I believe I must share with you. I… fear that you will think less of me, for it.” 

“Spock, nothing in the universe could make me think less of you. Trust me.” 

Spock shakes his head. “Then you do not know me, after all. You must see that something is wrong with me. I am defective.” Jim wants to interject, to stop Spock from saying all these things about himself, but the words are stuck somewhere behind his teeth. This sounds like something Spock needs to say. He turns away from Jim when he begins to speak, but doesn’t leave the bed, and Jim is grateful. 

“Since First Contact, Humans and Vulcans have attempted to combine our respective genetic codes. It was envisaged that a child of both worlds would unite our people more effectively than any treaty or agreement could. After a hundred failed attempts, it was thought to be impossible, due to the differences between your iron-based circulatory systems, and the Vulcan copper-based ones. My mother was not willing to accept that outcome. As a result, I am the very first successful Vulcan-Human hybrid.” 

Jim nods. This is pretty much common knowledge in his time, but he knows the Vulcans had originally kept Spock’s hybrid nature close to their chest. No one’s ever told him why, but he can hazard a guess. Even Vulcans aren’t enlightened enough to entirely escape racism. 

Spock sighs. It’s another thing that Jim has rarely ever witnessed Spock doing, but today seems like it’s going to be a day of firsts. “While the experiment leading to my birth was considered, by all accounts, a success, there were some flaws with the end product.” Jim doesn’t like the detached way Spock is talking about himself, but he knows better than to interrupt. “I am shorter than most Vulcans. My skin tone is unusual. I am susceptible to Terran illnesses, which are not infectious to true Vulcans. I am also susceptible to Vulcan diseases which would not affect true Humans. I cannot accept donated blood or plasma, nor can I donate my own. My hormone patterns follow no known pattern. I am infertile.” 

Jim blinks. He’d known some of it, but admittedly, it’s not like these things would have come up in conversations with _his_ Spock, or even Spock Prime. He shakes his head. “I didn’t know that, but I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.” 

“It is a thing no out-worlder may know except those very few who have been involved. A Vulcan understands, but even we do not speak of it among ourselves. It is a deeply personal thing, about biology. Do you understand what I am saying?” 

Jim honestly does not. He shakes his head, and then regrets it a little when Spock’s face darkens. He doesn’t look angry, but rather distressed, as though he doesn’t know what words to use. “You’ve never spoken about this before, have you?” he asks, intuiting the root of the problem. 

Spock nods. “Indeed. My own father explained it to me through a meld, so that he would not have to speak the words aloud.” 

That sounds incredibly emotionally constipated, but Jim isn’t exactly in a position to throw stones. He watches Spock’s face and fights a battle in his mind, between offering to let Spock show him whatever he’s talking about through a meld, and not. He’s hesitant about the whole melding business after what happened with Spock Prime, but that’s not the only reason for his reluctance. 

If what Spock said about the gravity of a mind meld is true, Jim isn’t sure he can bring himself to agree. Not when he needs to talk to _his_ Spock about it, first. His Spock had been jealous over Jim’s friendship with Spock Prime, and that was before they’d even become close in the first place. Now, when (if) he gets back to his own timeline, and if (when) he musters up the courage to talk to Spock about the nature of their relationship, he’d rather not have to explain that he’d melded with yet _another_ version of Spock, along the way. Even if his Spock decides that he’d rather be with Nyota, Jim could do with one less stain on his conscience. 

It’s not the strongest argument, and he has no idea how he’s going to explain it to _this_ Spock, but it’s what he knows is true in his mind. 

“If you want to tell me, if you can, I won’t judge. I promise.” If anyone could subvert a lifetime of cultural learning, it’s Spock, but Jim won’t force him. It’s not a small favour he’s asking. 

Spock nods slowly. “As you are aware, Vulcan is a desert planet. In the past, it was observed that the climate of the planet went through a cycle of change every seven years. At the end of every cycle, temperatures would reduce and annual rainfall would increase. Vulcans evolved. According to our written records, more children began to be born in the seventh year. In the hottest years of the cycle, Vulcans who could bear children reported varying levels of infertility. Over thousands of years of evolution, Vulcans developed a drive to bear children in the seventh year, who would be more likely to survive to adulthood than those born at any other time. Before Surak, this became known as ‘ _ponn farr_ ’. The time of mating.” 

Jim isn’t entirely sure why he’s receiving a history lesson, but he’s willing to hear Spock out. To borrow a phrase, it’s fascinating, and something tells him that not many people alive (outside Vulcans) know about this. Besides, it’s been a while since he’s been treated to a lesson by Spock, and he’s almost missed it. This Spock is still young, not yet as comfortable in his own skin as the Spock Jim knows, but he’s getting there. 

“After Surak, Vulcans had more time to devote to learning instead of war-mongering. As civilisation progressed, our people became less dependent on climate cycles. A child born in the second or third year of the cycle was equally likely to survive as one born in the seventh year. However, for some reason that even our most learned elders and scientists cannot fathom, the mating drive remains. It is no longer synchronised with the climate cycle, but every Vulcan must go through it in their lifetime. It is an instinct so base that it turns even the most intelligent, the wisest amongst us into rutting beasts. A drive so strong that one who is struck by the blood fever will not survive it, until he quenches his thirst for savagery.” 

Spock’s face is mottled green with either embarrassment or anger, and when he looks up at Jim, it takes his breath away. It’s almost like looking into the face of his Spock as he pinned him against a console on the bridge of the Enterprise, surrounded by the debris from a dead planet. Jim… wants to reassure him; wants to say that it can’t be _that_ bad if an entire species has managed to survive so far. But as proud as he is that Spock managed to speak about something so private, it’s an entirely different thing to discard generations worth of internalised shame. Besides, he knows better than to condescend to Spock. 

“I am infertile. My hormones are unpredictable. I am unique; there is no one like me. I am unbonded, because as much as _ponn farr_ is the shameful secret of an entire species, it is even more shameful that I might not suffer it, rendering me even _less_ Vulcan than my peers. If I do not have a bondmate by the time my fever strikes, _if_ it strikes, I will surely perish. Do you understand now, what I am asking you?” Jim’s heart sinks. “I can think of no one who has known me as long as you have, and who still holds affection for me.” 

Jim wants the ground to crack open and swallow him whole. Being honest with Spock is going to be _painful_ , and he wishes he could spare both Spock and himself, but he owes Spock better. 

“That’s a lot,” Jim says, filling in the silence while he tries to organise his thoughts. Spock wilts right before his eyes, his shoulders slumping as he retreats from Jim without moving an inch. That is _not_ what Jim wanted. He reaches out and wraps a hand around Spock’s wrist to catch his attention. He knows that hands are serious business for Vulcans, but he can’t imagine what he’s done merits the look on Spock’s face, like he’s been struck in the back of his head with a tyre iron. He’s _so_ not cut out for this. 

The only thing he wants to do now is to be kind to Spock, even if he can’t avoid hurting him. 

“So first of all,” Jim starts when he’s relatively confident that the words will make sense when spoken aloud, “no offence, but Vulcans sound like dicks. I mean, I knew this already, to some extent, but _geez._ What they’re doing to you is discrimination. You know that, right?” 

Spock nods, but his gaze is still fixed on the point where Jim’s fingers are wrapped around his wrist. “I am aware. But it is no less difficult to deal with, even though there is a name for it.” 

“Yeah,” Jim agrees, “I get that. But the first step is knowing that it’s not actually your fault, or your problem. I wish someone had told me that when I was younger, but it’s true.” Spock nods again, and makes no move to pull his hand away from Jim. So Jim doesn’t move either. 

“Second, I’m guessing that the, uh, “deviations” in your personality are because of this _ponn farr_ thing?” 

Spock shrugs with his other shoulder, and it looks like something he’ll pick up from Jim, someday. It’s a hilarious thought, actually, if one meant for less serious times. “There is no way to know when I will be struck by the fever, if at all. A number of doctors have informed me that I have elevated levels of the specific hormones in my blood, but not enough to signal the beginning of the fever. These hormones cause aggression and paranoia. I know I am not myself, but I cannot do anything about it.” 

Jim squeezes Spock’s wrist almost involuntarily, trying to share what comfort he can. Spock’s not a physical person when he’s in his right mind, but Jim hopes this contact can be forgiven. 

“And the last thing is this, Spock. You said something about bonding. How Vulcans need to be bonded to get through this. You’re not talking about the platonic type of bonding, are you.” It’s not a question; Jim knows the answer to his own hypothetical. “You’re talking about a mental bond, or something with a more significant degree of permanence.” Spock refuses to make eye-contact, and Jim doesn’t force it. 

“Spock, I’m literally from a different point in the timeline. We still don’t know how I got here. If I bond with you now, and then get thrown back into my own timeline, what the hell would happen to you? What happens to a surviving bondmate when the other dies?” 

Spock sighs and closes his eyes, finally pulling his hand back. He wraps the fingers of his other hand around the wrist which Jim had just been touching, almost like he’s trying to soothe himself. Jim realises suddenly that he probably got more comfort from it than Spock did, and can’t help but feel guilty. 

“The term ‘surviving bondmate’ is not a common one. Bondmates do not often survive the deaths of their _t’hy’la_.” 

That’s a word Jim hasn’t heard before, and he wants to ask, but the majority of his brain is screaming about Spock’s admission that he’d basically die if he bonded with Jim, and Jim got sent back to his own timeline. Even if he was free to, even if he wanted to, it’s a risk he cannot take. 

“I cannot let that happen, Spock. I’m sorry.” 

“I am… unsurprised,” Spock replies after a long moment. “I had predicted that your response would be thus, but there was something within me which required that I make the attempt, anyway.” 

Jim wants to shrug, to agree that sometimes the heart wants what it wants, beyond the scope of any reason, but he doesn’t want to talk about this any longer, either. It feels like he’d be rubbing salt into the wound, and he does love this Spock, albeit in a different way than he loves his own Spock. Hurting him is not something Jim wants to do. 

They sit there in a slightly drowsy silence for what feels like a long while, gathering their own thoughts. It’s not uncomfortable, and Jim takes a moment to catalogue the differences in his own feelings. The air between this Spock and himself is warm and friendly, entirely unlike the sometimes-uncomfortable electricity between himself and _his_ Spock. He’s about to ask Spock what ‘ _t’hy’la_ ’ means, when Spock speaks first. 

“James,” Spock ventures, “I must make a confession.” 

“Yeah?” Jim’s not sure how many more revelations he can take, but he’s not about to leave Spock hanging. 

“I have searched for you, in this timeline.” Jim sits up straight, all of a sudden, and Spock continues as if he hasn’t noticed. “When I realised that I - this was unrelated to my _ponn farr,_ but - it has been seven years since we last spoke. Perhaps I feared I would never see you again. I remembered what you told me, about Starfleet and flags on your files. I was careful. I did not trigger any traps, and I will not be traced. But I believe you should know this.” 

There’s a beat of silence so thick that Jim feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin. “Your father. He is still alive, here. George Kirk. He is the First Officer to Captain Robau on board the USS Kelvin. The only public information I have learned about you is that you joined the Starfleet Academy to follow in your fathers’ footsteps.” 

Realisation blazes through his mind like a forest fire, followed by ice-cold understanding. “This is a totally different timeline, isn’t it?” he asks. Spock nods. “I haven’t been fucking up my own timeline, I’ve been fucking up a totally new one. Holy _shit_ ,” he swears, the knowledge settling on his shoulders like the weight of a gravestone. “Shit.” 

He should have known. 

Spock interrupts his panic spiral by reaching out and wrapping his hand around Jim’s wrist, a copy of what Jim had done only moments ago. It works. “You have not ‘fucked’ anything up,” Spock says, and it’s actually _hilarious_ to hear Spock swearing when Jim knows there’s a betting pool on the Enterprise to see who will eventually make Spock curse. They should have known that he’d be the one to succeed. 

“What if the things I’ve told you change the way you are, and then you won’t be able to, I dunno, be friends with the Jim Kirk of this timeline? What if you keep looking for this version of me, but your version is too different to compare? What if, in trying to keep everything the same as what I know, I ended up changing _everything_?” Jim can feel the panic at the back of his throat when Spock squeezes his wrist again, drawing him out of his own thoughts. 

“I am different from your Spock, am I not?” 

Jim nods. They’re similar, sure, but not the same. He’d always chalked that up to the age difference, but come to think of it, this Spock is almost as old as _his_ Spock when they’d first met in 2258, and Jim would never mistake one for the other. 

“It therefore stands to reason that in this universe, you will be different as well. Your father passed away when you were young. In this universe, he did not. Would you not be different based on that one fact alone?” 

That makes sense. He’d never admit it, but losing his father had defined Jim. Maybe this version would be a lot more stable. He’d have his shit together, probably. No bar fights, or cheating on tests, or almost getting expelled for academic dishonesty. No death-defying stunts like provoking Spock to throttle him on the bridge of the Enterprise. No Nero. And Vulcan…

Knowing is one thing. It’s easy to know what it means, that he’s in a different universe. Understanding it is something entirely different. This Spock will never experience the destruction of Vulcan, and Jim is so fucking _glad_. This Spock, who is still pretty cool for a Vulcan, will be much more suited for a James Kirk who hadn’t screwed up every single opportunity that looked him in the face. A James Kirk who knew how to have healthy relationships and wasn’t afraid of difficult conversations. 

He’s involuntarily reminded of the first time he’d met this Spock, and of all the bullshit he’d spewed then, about age and wisdom and knowing when to ask for help as an adult life skill. The James Kirk in this universe will probably embody the advice Jim gave Spock, all those years ago. 

He’d been 28 then; older than this Spock is, now. He wonders if all this time-travel had been his version of a _kahs-wan_ , and he’d been the child too young to know that he should ask for help. God, explaining this to his Spock is going to be a _nightmare_. 

The thought of his Spock makes something in his chest hurt. Or at least, that’s what he thinks at first, until the pain sharpens and begins to radiate through his limbs. He swears under his breath. 

“James?” Spock asks, still holding onto his wrist. “Are you well?” 

Jim wants to tell him he’s fine, but he can’t force his mouth to form any words. Even his tongue hurts. The sensation is almost familiar, though Jim can’t tell if he’s remembering the pain of the other times he’d traveled through universes and timelines, or the pain his body was feeling because of the irradiation he’d left behind, just a short while ago. 

“James?” Spock asks again, but Jim can’t answer. His ears are ringing and his vision is beginning to fade, but the hand around his wrist feels like a tether, keeping him from falling into pieces. 

Everything goes black for a small eternity, but when he opens his eyes, he’s back in his universe, lying on a hospital bed. “Spock?” he asks, a little confused. 

The room bursts into activity around him, people rushing and machines screaming, but none of it matters. He can’t look away from his wrist, where Spock had refused to let him go.


	4. Part IV: The Beginning (2246)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is then that Spock realises; JT is starving, too. He had noticed it of course, in the gauntness of JT’s body, the dullness of his eyes, but Jim has always been larger than life - too large to be affected by mortal things like hunger or thirst. Spock knows better. James Kirk is a man like any other man, with his flaws and his appetites and his peculiarities, of course Spock knows better. But in his heart, Jim has always been something greater than that. His professors had once called Spock a romantic, and had meant it as an insult. It had perhaps been true. 
> 
> “My name is Spock,” he starts instead. The words fall out like they’re coming from some other place, where they have always existed outside Spock’s conscious control. “I have always been, and always will be your friend.”

Spock loses control. 

There is no other description for what happens to him, when he sees the Captain - Jim’s - eyes close, filled with the knowledge that they will never open again. It settles inside him like a stone, but instead of grounding him, it sets him alight from the inside. His father would be ashamed of him. As he is hunting down the animal that did this, he finds he does not care. 

Now he understands, some small part of his mind notes as he is holding Harrison down with his own body weight, and slamming his fist into Harrison’s face, as if it will make any difference now. He understands why Jim had been so upset at the loss of Spock Prime. 

It was not about what they shared. It is about what they _could_ have shared. The loss of potential hurts like a missing organ, like there is a cavity inside his rib-cage that ought not to exist. Perhaps killing Harrison will fill the void; perhaps it will not, but this feeling is abhorrent, and Spock is willing to try anything to make it go away. At least until Nyota stops him, a desperate explanation spilling off her tongue, about Harrison’s blood and cryogenic resurrection and hope and hope and _hope_ -

He has lost more than his fair share in these years past, but he thinks that he will lose her too. There is no way to explain his reaction to the loss of his Captain’s life, save the conclusion Nyota is no doubt drawing as they stand there outside the operating room, praying that Doctor McCoy can pull off a miracle. 

There had been a song his mother had liked, with a single lyric that remains with Spock now, after all these years. He is not religious by any measure, though his mother was, and he now understands what it means to be _living on a prayer_. It is telling that not a single fraction of his first ever prayer has been designated to rescuing his relationship with Nyota. She deserves better. 

He looks down at his knuckles, bruised and bleeding, the most sensitive part of his body used like rough tools. There will be consequences for this, both physical and mental, but he does not regret it. “I am--” he is going to apologise, but he is not sorry. “I regret,” he says instead, beginning a sentence but unable to complete it. “I regret.” 

Nyota shakes her head, her long hair is a mess and her face is streaked with sweat and dirt but she is beautiful and clever and deadly. Would that he had loved her enough. He regrets. 

“Life is short,” she says, instead. He does not deserve comfort from her, but she offers it anyway, a hand on his forearm, entirely platonic. “Life is so damn short, Spock. I don’t regret the beginning of this. I don’t regret ending it, either. I want you to be happy, and I deserve better than being second best.” She is not chiding him, but he feels ashamed anyway; it’s just another failure to his name.

They wait in silence for the surgery to end, but it doesn’t. It carries on interminably, until Spock thinks he knows the shape of the door to the operating theatre better than he knows the back of his own hand, for he has spent less time studying them. This will be the day when he loses his mind, he thinks. His hands hurt from their earlier abuse. Harrison’s blood has dried on his skin, easily distinguishable from his own. 

“The nurses have sleeping cubbies downstairs,” Nyota finally says, when they are both exhausted and surrounded by other crew members, crowded into the corridor, holding hands and praying blearily, half asleep. “Spock, did you hear me? Get some rest. This isn’t going to be over anytime soon, and you’ll need to be rested for when Jim comes out.” She swallows hard, like she doesn’t entirely believe what she’s saying, but it doesn’t matter. She is not incorrect. 

With the Captain out of commission, Spock is the second in command. He has been remiss in his duties, and when Jim wakes up, he will be ashamed. Spock has not inquired after the well-being of the crew. He has not checked on the status of the ship. He has not been responding to requests from the admiralty. He does not know what the media is saying about them, about the events of the past few days. He does not care, but he knows he has to; Jim would care. 

Those higher up in command must be searching for him. There are mission reports to do, checks to ensure that such a security breach cannot happen again. There must be a reckoning for Admiral Marcus, even if Spock has to handle it with his own two hands. 

He is tired enough to realise that he will ot be able to achieve any of his goals without rest. He obeys Nyota, who has never misled him. A nurse directs him to a small sleeping chamber and offers him clean clothes, but he does not accept them. He will need to be in uniform when he wakes, there is no use in dirtying clothes for a thirty minute nap. 

He just lies down in an empty cot and sleeps. 

He does not expect to wake up surrounded by trees. 

The first touch of dry dirt under his fingertips is enough to tell him that he is not in the same hospital bed where he had laid down. He is not overly concerned with having been removed from the hospital without his knowledge or consent. As his Captain would say, this is not his first rodeo. His primary concern is to return to the hospital, so that he can be beside his Captain and within the reach of his crew. 

He does not move immediately, nor open his eyes, to avoid informing any hostiles that he is now awake. Instead he amplifies his hearing to check that there is no one else around. Once he is assured of his solitude, he stands up and assesses his situation. 

He is not injured. He is in his uniform, but it is clean and whole. His uniform boots which had been covered in blood and gore after the confrontation with Khan are pristine. His knuckles are unbruised and his hands and fingernails are clean. Care has been taken to give the impression that the events of the past week have not taken place at all, or perhaps to suggest that Spock has been asleep for a very long time. 

He remembers the memory of exhaustion, but his body does not feel tired. 

His pockets are empty. He does not have his communicator or his phaser, neither of which he has voluntarily been parted from in more than 84 hours. The knife in his boot has been removed. 

He does not waste any further time pondering questions to which there are no answers. 

He is standing in a copse of trees, but beyond that his surroundings are unfamiliar. It appears to be late afternoon, or early evening, assuming he is still on Earth. At first glance the trees are wholly unremarkable, a species which he does not recognise. A closer inspection shows that there is a fine layer of white powder on the tree trunks. It’s on the ground too, coating the grass and fallen leaves, on every exposed surface. A gentle touch of his hand sends the powder floating into the air, where it remains suspended like a fine mist, swirling in delicate circles when he breathes. 

Spock does not have any surplus fabric on his person, so he tears a strip from the bottom of his uniform shirt and fashions it into a mask. He does not know what the powder is, but he will incur no loss from an abundance of caution. 

Something rustles behind him and he turns quickly, reaching for his knife before he remembers that he does not have it with him. “Please declare your presence,” Spock says, keeping his voice even. “I do not wish you any harm.” 

The leaves rustle again, but in another direction. Spock cannot help but suspect that this is an ambush of sorts, that he is surrounded and all but defenseless save for his inborn strength. By all accounts, there should be no way out of this situation, but his Captain would surely disagree. His mind starts racing as he considers what his Captain might do in such a situation, only to be interrupted when a being - an adolescent, by its stature - marches out from behind the bushes, pointing a phaser directly at Spock’s face. 

Spock puts his hands up in the air, an almost universal declaration that he is unarmed. There are of course some cultures and species for whom raising upper limbs into the air is a gesture of aggression, but given that the being appears to be an adolescent Human, those scenarios are likely irrelevant. He stands still and watches as the child approaches, and her - the child appears to be female - hand shakes.

Her grip on the phaser is weak and unpracticed. From where he is standing, Spock can see that the phaser is set to kill but its core power levels are low, judging from the flickering indicator. It would be the work of seconds to disarm the child, and would pose almost no risk to Spock himself. He doubts the child would be able to defend herself against a grown Vulcan, even if Spock is a hybrid. 

However, while Spock does not much care for the Terran concept of a ‘fair fight’, he almost understands it now. The child is visibly malnourished, to the point of being skeletal. She barely reaches above his waist, and though he is of above-average height among Humans, it is little consolation.

He will not attack this child, and in defending himself he will do minimal harm. It would only be logical. “I mean you no harm,” he says. “ _Pacem_.” He holds his hand out in the ta’al. He knows she at least recognises the ta’al when she gasps out loud. Her grip on the phaser weakens further. “Peace,” he tries again, in case she’s too young to know the traditional greeting. He cannot be sure how old the child is, but he is almost certain that she is not yet a teenager. He ignores the clinical voice in the back of his mind that states that she may yet never be, if her health is as poor as it appears to be. 

“Are you from Starfleet?” she asks, and her voice is tinged with cautious hope. “Are you here to help us?” 

His thoughts quicken when he realises that she’s - inadvertently, perhaps - admitted to the existence of other people in need. Other children. He does not know why he is here, but he will do everything in his power to help them, in any way he can. He nods. 

“Oh thank _god_ ,” the girl whispers, just as another being steps out from behind the bushes - the second part of the ambush Spock realises. 

This adolescent appears to be Andorian, blue-skinned and too young to have identifiable sex markers. Both children are equally malnourished, bones visible beneath drawn skin. The expression on the Andorian’s face is oddly familiar, a combination of fury and fear. He looks like the Captain does, when his crew is facing a dangerous threat. 

“You can’t trust him, Elia!” The girl’s face screws up tight and it looks like she might cry. She doesn’t. It’s almost like she’s forgotten how, or perhaps there are no tears left in her body that she has not already shed. Spock’s heart begins to fill with fury, but he does not react outwardly, and remains still. “Elia, for _fuck’s sake_ , you can’t!” 

“Dom,” she whispers, “I’m so tired.” As a Vulcan, Spock is not prone to emotionalism, but the sight of her brings to mind the Terran phrase, ‘ _shaking like a leaf_ ’. 

“On my family’s name,” Spock says quietly, catching the attention of both children. “I swear to you on my family’s name that I will do you no harm. Please, let me help you.” Spock doesn’t know _how_ exactly he’s going to help these children, but he’s already failed once in recent memory. He’s not about to fail again. 

The Andorian, Dom, studies him. His face is sallow and there are circles under his eyes, as dark as bruises. His gaze is hollow but piercing. If Doctor McCoy were here - well. If Doctor McCoy were here, he would have been helpful. Doctor McCoy, for all his abrasiveness, has a way with children. He would have been outraged to see these two in such an advanced stage of starvation. . 

After a long moment, Dom nods and then glances at the Human female, Elia. “Go get JT, Elia. Tell him there’s a Vulcan here, who says he’s from Starfleet.” 

Elia looks like she wants to protest, but doesn’t say anything. She extends the phaser to Dom, who looks hesitant. 

Spock shakes his head. “A dying phaser will not help you against a Vulcan, if I turn on you. I will not, of course, but it would be more logical for Elia to take it, in the event she encounters hostiles.” 

Both children look a little startled at Spock’s cold logic, but it cannot be denied. He does not want Elia to be sent away without any means to defend herself, when he knows full well that he will be more effective protection for Dom here than a dying phaser could be. And yet, he understands their reluctance to bring him back to their hideaway. Defending one’s home is a base instinct that remains, even when all else is stripped away. 

“JT is your parent?” he asks once Elia is gone, disappearing into the bush, lowering himself down to sit cross-legged on the ground. It will cost him a split second to stand up if they are attacked, but it will put Dom at ease if he is standing above Spock, who is the nearest potential threat. It is a kindness Spock can easily spare. 

Dom eyes him mistrustfully and crosses his arms. “JT’s our _leader_ ,” he replies after a moment, emphasizing the last word when Spock doesn’t press. Spock wonders if Dom regards this leader more highly even than his parents. On its own this is hardly conclusive evidence as to the nature of ‘JT’, but it is leading. There is an expression on Dom’s face that Spock cannot yet interpret, not only because he is not familiar with Andorian expressions. 

“I have only just arrived here,” Spock ventures after another minute passes, “so I beg your pardon if my questions are redundant. How long have you and Elia been here? How long have you been waiting for Starfleet?” 

Dom snorts, and the white powder coating the leaves of a nearby tree floats into the air gently. Spock unties the strip of cloth that he had been using as a mask and passes it to Dom. “I am not certain what this substance is, but you should not be inhaling it.” 

Dom laughs this time, disturbing even more of the powder on his exhale. “Mister, the entire fucking planet’s covered in mould. We’ve been out here for almost three months, since the massacre. We’re going to die of starvation long before the mould kills us. It would have been a mercy if the fucking thing was toxic to people. Instead it just destroys all the crops, until there’s nothing left to eat.”

The description of the powder - the mould - even the sight of it, is familiar in a way that burrows under Spock’s skin; a faint memory. It is an indicator of his state of mind that even his near-perfect recall is… less than functional. 

Spock isn’t one for idle conversation, so minutes drip past in silence as a light breeze rustles through the trees, discharging more clouds of mould. Dom does not seem overly concerned by the silence, either. 

“Are you native to this planet?” Spock asks after a long moment. 

Dom snorts and shakes his head. “I’m surprised you people up at Starfleet don’t know.” He gestures up at the sky the way all ground-based species do when referring to Starfleet. “Nobody’s native to Tarsus, Mister.”

Spock’s mind stands still, but only for a moment. Dom continues speaking, but Spock doesn’t hear any of it. Or perhaps he does, but he does not pay it any heed. He is on Tarsus. Three months have passed since the Tarsus Massacre in 2246. In 2246, Spock was sixteen years old, on Vulcan. Spock will not hear about the tragedy on Tarsus until 2247, when Starfleet finally declassifies the files. 

Spock is currently 33 years old.

Of all the beings in the universe, he is one of the few who can confidently say that temporal and spatial anomalies do exist. 

Connections snap into place lightning-quick, and understanding follows. Starfleet is not here yet. These are the survivors of the Tarsus Massacre. He is about to meet the leader of the Tarsus Nine, JT, whose name has long since been lost to the annals of administrative mismanagement and political bureaucracy. 

He hears footsteps approaching at almost the time Dom does, and immediately raises his hands into the air as Dom stands at attention, looking over Spock’s shoulder at who-ever is approaching. Spock turns slowly, and the face that greets him takes his breath away. 

It is a face he knows perfectly, seen through a warped lens; identical but for a trick of the light and the passage of time. His eyes are hazel instead of electric-blue, but they are piercing in the same way that Spock is familiar with. He has no doubt that he is looking upon the face of James Tiberius Kirk. 

_JT_.

It would have taken a lesser man a longer time and a greater leap of faith to believe what his eyes are telling him. Spock is neither lesser nor is he a man. While he is not reckless by any measure, Spock does not make a habit of double-guessing what _must_ be the truth. He lowers his hands slowly and observes the consternation on the captain - no, he is not the man who would be Spock’s Captain - on JT’s face. 

“ _I know your face_ ,” JT says. It takes a moment for Spock to realise that he is speaking in Vulcan, not Standard. It has been only five years since the destruction of Vulcan, but Spock has already become unaccustomed to the sound of his native language. Hearing it in JT’s voice is disconcerting. 

He inclines his head slightly in a nod, but doesn’t reply. He does not enjoy the sensation of speechlessness, but it is something his Captain - something that James Kirk brings out in him frequently. On some days, on good days, it reminds him of how his Mother was the only person who could render Sarek silent. 

“Go back to the shelter,” JT says, coming to stand in front of Spock. He does not look at Dom or Elia until they protest, and it is quelled with a single glance. Even though he is young, JT is already a powerful leader. They are silent until the clearing is empty again, aside from the two of them. “Why do I know your face?” JT asks quietly, his hand resting on the phaser holstered in his belt. His cheeks are hollow and sunken, but his eyes are alight. 

“You are James Tiberius Kirk.” It’s not a question, but Spock waits for confirmation anyway. JT swallows hard and nods. 

“You know my father.” This is not a question either, but an assumption which JT has no reason to doubt.

Spock blinks, blindsided by the knowledge that this version of James Kirk grew up with a living father, and presumably, a loving mother. For a split second, his heart _aches_ at the thought of the things his version of Jim had lost, because of the actions of a deranged Romulan. 

_Because of Spock’s own failures in the alternate timeline_.

He does not doubt that this is not his time-stream. This is not his James Kirk. But Spock would not be Spock if he did not consider Jim one of his truest friends. And so it must be, even though this James - JT does not know him. 

He shakes his head after a long moment. Telling Jim a lie has never led to a positive outcome. “I know you, James. But you do not know me, yet.” He wonders if Jim will understand, and he is not disappointed. Some form of understanding rushes through Jim’s eyes, followed by disbelief, and then anger. 

But before JT can explode and they can get carried away, Spock extends his hand, palm facing up. “I will show you,” he offers. “If you wish. You are aware that Vulcans are-”

“Touch telepaths, yes,” JT says, not waiting for Spock to finish. “How do I know you’re not going to use the opportunity to kill me and find out where the others are hiding? I would be a fool to take that risk. I don’t even know your name!” 

It is then that Spock realises; JT is starving, too. He had noticed it of course, in the gauntness of JT’s body, the dullness of his eyes, but Jim has always been larger than life - too large to be affected by mortal things like hunger or thirst. Spock knows better. James Kirk is a man like any other man, with his flaws and his appetites and his peculiarities, of course Spock knows better. But in his heart, Jim has always been something greater than that. His professors had once called Spock a romantic, and had meant it as an insult. It had perhaps been true. 

“My name is Spock,” he starts instead. The words fall out like they’re coming from some other place, where they have always existed outside Spock’s conscious control. “I have always been, and always will be your friend.”

JT shivers and his eyes well up, but no tears fall. Spock gives him a moment, only a moment, before he puts a hand on JT’s shoulder, to offer what comfort he can. He does not look away as JT puts himself together, and only respects him more for the strength it must have taken. 

“Okay,” JT says finally. “You know we’re on Tarsus. I’m assuming we get out of this alive, for you to know the future-me.” 

Spock does not know the answer to his question. This is an alternate universe. He knows that _his_ version of Jim must have survived, if he ever was on Tarsus. Perhaps the JT whom the Tarsus Nine refer to in _his_ timeline is not _his_ Jim Kirk but someone else. Perhaps his version of Jim escaped this fate because his father died when he was born. There is simply no way of knowing. Objectively, Spock knows that there is no certainty of survival, that such a thing does not exist. This version of Jim could well perish before Starfleet eventually arrives, _if_ they arrive at all. But they might not. Or Jim might survive. He does not know, as there are too many variables for any realistic prediction. 

But subjectively, Spock knows that James Kirk could not die like this. He _will not_ die like this. Not when the universe waits for him, braced with open arms. Not while Spock breathes. He nods. “In my timeline, Jim survived Tarsus. You will survive Tarsus.” 

JT exhales through his nose and closes his eyes, gathering what strength remains in his shaking limbs. Spock wants to offer help, but he is not sure how it would be received. “Alright,” he says, after a moment. “Spock. Nice to meet you. Any idea what the fuck you’re doing here?” 

Spock shakes his head slightly. “Regrettably, I do not. I closed my eyes to sleep one day, and opened them to find myself here.” 

“Did anything unusual the day before?” Circumstances notwithstanding, it’s almost amusing how Jim is trying to help Spock resolve his problems before tackling Jim’s own. Spock is less concerned about his involuntary displacement than he is about the children whom, if he remembers correctly, were hunted like dogs by Governor Kodos’ men for months until Starfleet arrived. 

“It was an unusual week, yes,” Spock admits, “but nothing which could have led to a temporal displacement, or a spatial one. I went to sleep in a hospital on Earth.” 

JT’s eyebrows rise and then he shakes his head lightly. “You’re not well?” 

And of course, he would be concerned for _Spock’s_ health. If Spock were not a Vulcan, it would have been frustrating. “In fact, I was in the hospital as _you_ had been injured.” Spock tries not to think about his Jim had been more than injured; that he had _died_. Spock tries not to worry about the fact that he does not know whether Jim will live or - there is no alternative. He must live. He _must_. 

JT’s eyes brighten, almost feverishly. “We serve together? On a starship?” 

Spock does not see the harm in indulging JT. “You are my Captain.” Spock wants to say that Jim is his captain, his friend, his confidant, his brother-in-arms, his partner in more ways than one, but he does not know if JT will hear it. 

An expression of wonder changes JT’s face, and Spock can believe that this JT grew up dreaming about the day he’d be a starship captain. Another difference between JT and his Jim Kirk. “I’ll be damned Spock, but I believe you. I really do. I must be losing my mind.” 

“You are not, I assure you. Dom and Elia were able to perceive me as well.” 

JT laughs, and the sound is bright and beautiful and shockingly familiar, though Spock has only heard Jim laugh like that a few times. “I don’t think you’re a ghost, Spock. Ghosts wouldn’t leave footprints, for one.” Spock had not noticed that where he touched the ground, the mould is thinner, enough to reveal packed dirt underneath it. “But I can’t believe that I believe you so easily. Tommy’s going to have a fit.” 

“Thomas Leighton?” Spock asks, remembering the name. 

“Yeah,” JT replies, grinning. The way his skin tightens over his face gives him the overall affect of a skull, and in his mind Spock is _grieving_. “He makes it out?” 

Spock nods. “Him and -” a thought occurs. “How many survivors do you have with you, JT?” 

JT’s eyebrow rises, like he’s stumbled across Spock’s thought process. “I’ve got twelve with me. Kev is the littlest, but he’s doing alright. Anne’s sickest. Tommy says if her fever doesn’t come down tonight, it’d be a kindness to not wake her tomorrow. I don’t want to let her go.” 

“There were nine survivors in my timeline, including yourself.” JT’s face falls and his spirits visibly sink. “But that does not mean that only nine will survive here, too.” 

“Why? You can’t change the past, isn’t that - isn’t that just the basic principle of timetravel? If you change the past you risk changing the future, and if something happens today that prevents you from coming back to change the past, wouldn’t it create a paradox? That’s bad, right?” 

Spock hadn’t planned to admit to JT that this is an alternate timeline, but he has no choice now. 

“You would be correct, in that a paradox might threaten the fabric of space-time.” He remembers the words that Spock Prime had used on Jim to convince him to hide the truth of his existence. It seems only fair that Spock uses his words now. “However I believe our timelines are not identical, but parallel. You are not the man who becomes my Captain. And I am not the Spock who will be your -” Spock struggles for a word “- your friend. You have yet to meet _your_ Spock.” 

JT’s face falls even further. “But when will I meet you? I _know_ you, somehow, Spock. Somewhere inside, I know who _you_ are. We’re connected. How could you not be my Spock?” He puts a hand over his heart, almost absently. 

Spock shakes his head but the description of the knowing is familiar. He feels it too, like a thread from the centre of his chest pulling him towards JT. “I do not know, but I am certain of it. There are differences between yourself and the James Kirk I know. This does not change the fact that I am your friend. I will help you succeed, as best I can.” 

JT sighs but doesn’t protest. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll take you back to the shelter. You can meet the rest of the kids.” He begins to walk, and Spock follows. “There used to be more but a lot of the younger ones got sick from eating bad food. Sometimes I wonder if they weren’t the lucky ones.” 

Spock shakes his head and touches JT’s shoulder lightly, again. He has been tempted to touch his own Jim like this too, but never indulged his own desires. There seems to be no reason to restrain himself now, when JT most needs the comfort. Not when Spock knows the exact nature of the doubt which plagues JT. “You are a good leader. Very few, if any, could have achieved what you did, here. To survive against all odds is no small feat, and I have no doubt that one day, you will meet a Vulcan who will see you and know you and say the same thing. I am proud of you, JT.” 

JT puts his hand on top of Spock’s, and a connection flares before Spock can pull his hand away. A lightning burst of knowledge slams into Spock’s mind with the force of a freight vehicle, disorganised but comprehensible all the same, as it seeps into the fabric of Spock’s mind. It should have been abhorrent. An intrusion most obscene. His entire body should have rebelled. 

It is not. It does not. JT’s thoughts simply melt into Spock’s own, so that where one opinion had been, there now exist two in the same place. It is not invasive, nor does it crowd his mind. It simply feels as though it belongs, as though they are made from the same substance, indistinguishable from each other. Spock has only heard of such a thing in pre-Surakian myths. A true union of minds is no small thing. 

He blinks to find JT crouched over him, panic in his eyes. He is on the ground for the second time in recent memory. He sits up and JT draws back, keeping his hands to himself like he’s afraid he might cause Spock pain with every accidental touch. 

Spock shakes his head and clears his throat. “It was not your doing,” he says, because if he knows one thing about James Kirk, it is that he is a champion of self-recrimination. 

“I’m sorry,” JT says, proving Spock’s point. 

“It was not your fault. There is no forgiveness to be granted. I was unprepared for our compatibility.” 

JT offers a hesitant smile, but keeps his hands behind his back and stays two feet away from Spock when he stands up. Spock will not force their physical proximity, nor will he disclose the intimacy of touching hands with a Vulcan. JT is a child yet, and it would not be appropriate, notwithstanding their future friendship. “Rest assured. I am not harmed.” 

JT nods and begins moving when Spock gestures for him to lead the way. The path is familiar, though Spock has never been here before. He suspects this is a side-effect of the emotional transference, an inherent risk of mental contact with the untrained. 

“The shelter isn’t too far,” JT says after a beat. The only sounds around them are the rustling of knee-high grass as they walk through it, clouds of powder dust surrounding them. “We’re as far as we can get from the settlement, if we still want to make regular trips to kill-town. Most homes and stores were ransacked early on but sometimes we find canned food. There’s a creek further away. It’s small but the water’s clean enough. We’ve been holed up here for almost four weeks. Tommy thinks we need to start moving again, but Anne’s too weak.” 

Even this is familiar; the habit of narrating the state of affairs, to think out loud and to prompt collaboration. After everything that happened with Khan, Spock had thought he might never get to experience it again. “I am in optimal health. My injuries appear to have healed. I will be able to carry Anne as well as whatever belongings you have. Or another child, depending on how strong the children are, or if they are able to walk.” 

JT shakes his head. Spock prepares to defend his superior strength, but JT doesn’t allow him to start. “I know you’re strong enough to do it, but I don’t think the kids are strong enough for a journey. I think we’re stuck here until Starfleet arrives, or.” He does not finish his sentence, but he does not have to. They will remain here until Starfleet arrives, or until they die from starvation. They have no other options. 

Spock takes it as a given that they’ve tried to hunt for rodents or other lifeforms which may have survived, but if it has been more than three months since the disease began to spread, every small animal has died by now. “What is the state of defences?” he asks instead. 

JT shrugs. “We’ve got six phasers, but most of them are low on charge. We’ve got an old fashioned projectile weapon, a gun, with two rounds of ammunition. Tommy fashioned spears by fastening kitchen knives to the ends of wooden branches, but we haven’t tested their durability. They might just break on impact. The mould rots straight through wood, we’ve seen a couple of trees randomly falling apart. I used to be pretty good at hand-to-hand, and I tried to teach some of the others, but I don’t think anyone’s strong enough to do any harm, anymore.” 

It is a dire state of affairs, but James Kirk never met a no-win scenario that he did not utterly defeat. In his honour, Spock could do no less. “Very well. Do you have any long distance radios?” 

JT eyes him and stops, clearly thinking about it. “We don’t have any with us, because we thought Kodos might be able to track us using the known frequencies, but. Well. Hoshi Sato’s house isn’t too far from here. She probably had comms equipment, though I’m pretty sure it’s been trashed by now.” 

Spock nods. A plan formulates. “Can you provide directions to Sato’s residence? I should be able to repair something enough to get a comm out to Starfleet.” 

“I’m coming with you,” JT says, crossing his arms. There’s a mulish set to his jaw that Spock has seen many times before. Their wills are equally matched, but Spock has never won an argument with Jim when he has this particular expression on his face. There is no time to waste, anyway. 

“Very well. But you will remain behind me.” JT looks like he’s going to object, but Spock doesn’t let him speak. “I am stronger than you, and I am not starving. I will be able to deal with any injuries far more efficiently than you.” It goes without saying that Spock would _die_ before letting any further harm befall JT. “It is only logical.” 

JT grinds his teeth and then finally nods, as regal as a reluctant king. Spock feels his lips twitch in amusement. The victory is as satisfying as it would have been, had this been his own Jim. “Lead the way.” 

JT does, and to his credit, it only takes him a moment to shake the anger off. They walk in silence, at half-speed in deference to JT’s exhaustion, and Spock again considers offering a shoulder in aid, even though he knows JT will not accept it. He does not, and they soon arrive at a modest two-story home, surrounded by a barren garden. 

“Hoshi was teaching me how to speak Vulcan,” JT whispers. Spock is uncertain whether this is because he is worried about being overheard, or out of deference for someone whom he had respected. 

“When you meet your Spock, you should ask him to teach you. I assure you, he will be more than pleased to do so.” 

JT snorts as they sneak in through the back door. It’s unlocked. Spock recalls commentary on the massacre that the colony had been peaceful, until the crops had withered and Kodos had made his infamous executive order. Residents would not have locked their doors against each other. “Any other tips on the care and feeding of friendly Vulcans?” 

Spock considers his response for a moment. “Chess,” he replies, simply. 

JT turns to look at him, eyebrows creased in a frown. “I don’t know how to play chess. You’re telling me this other version of me, _Jim_ , he plays chess? Do I grow up to be a nerd?” he asks, sounding almost pleased at the thought. 

“JT, with all due respect, I believe you are already a _nerd_ ,” Spock says, flattening his features in a way that anyone can tell, he’s laughing inside. JT has no such compunctions, and breaks into soft giggles, a hand over his mouth to stifle the sounds. It is foolish, Spock knows, but he cannot begrudge JT any measure of joy. It is not within him to do so. 

They find Sato’s computer room before JT stops laughing, but after that there is little to smile about. As expected, the room and its contents are almost entirely destroyed. There are some small parts that Spock can salvage, but hardly enough to put together a working communicator with satellite capacity. 

When he turns to look at JT, there’s a curious look on his face. Spock does not interrupt his thoughts; he will explain when he is ready. Instead Spock goes to search the kitchen, to see if there is anything to eat that can still be salvaged. The refrigerator door hangs on a single hinge, and the inside of the machine is bare. Opening the freezer only releases a puddle of tepid water. The cupboards are empty too, but Spock still goes through them systematically, top to bottom, from one side of the room to the other. 

He’s almost done, with nothing to show for his efforts, when JT clears his throat. “I think Hoshi had a basement,” he says, sounding almost pained. “Before the massacre, I remember her complaining about her basement flooding. None of the houses on Tarsus have a basement, so I guess she was digging one up herself. I didn’t think to ask her why, or where it was, but maybe she was going to tell me, in case we needed to hide. That was the last time we met. I can’t remember if I even said goodbye.” He sounds so hurt about it, and Spock can’t help but remember the feeling of his own mother’s hands, slipping through his fingers. 

He does not know who Sato was to JT, but she had clearly been important. “I grieve with thee,” he says softly, and bites back the last word that wants to follow. A declaration which he cannot retract, once he makes it. It is not this JT whom he wishes to say it to, but his own Captain, his own _Jim_.

JT shrugs, clearly ignorant of the struggle within Spock’s chest. Of all the times to realise how important Jim is, it is ill-fated that Spock is in the one place he cannot reach his true _t’hy’la_. Not yet, anyway. He bites his tongue. 

“She probably dug it outside. Maybe on the side of the house?” 

They make their way outside, and sure enough there’s a small passageway with stairs within, leading to a basement. Its wooden doors are lying open. There’s a rust-red stain leading down the stairs, and Spock does not need a tricorder to know what it is. “Please remain here. Hide if anyone approaches,” he instructs, turning to JT. 

JT looks mulish, but he must see something in Spock’s eyes that makes him capitulate. 

“I will return shortly.” Spock descends quickly into the small room. The stench of decomposition fills his nose but he does not spend too much time studying the body lying on the ground. The room is small, but well-stocked with comms equipment. All outdated by his own standards, but apparently functional. The equipment boots up with a low whine. He must prioritise. 

He suspects that they will have to retreat before nightfall, otherwise the other children might leave the shelter to search for JT. It does not bear thinking what Dom and Elia must be fearing right now, let alone the others who had not had the opportunity to meet him yet. He also suspects he does not have much time before JT follows him down here, and he is proven correct when he hears a soft gasp behind him. He catches JT before he falls to his knees, both hands covering his mouth like he’s stopping a scream. 

There is no point scolding. Spock pulls JT away and keeps his own body between JT and the corpse, standing so that JT cannot see over his shoulder. “I would have spared you, JT.” He puts his hand on JT’s shoulder and squeezes it gently. “I grieve with thee,” he repeats, wondering how much more grief JT must suffer before he becomes the man who does not tremble in the face of death. This is clearly not the first corpse JT has seen, and it is not even the first body belonging to someone he had known and loved, but Spock wishes illogically, futilely, that it were his last. It is not his place, but he would spare JT this, even if it meant depriving his younger self of JT’s bravery. 

He shakes the thoughts out of his head and pushes JT to sit on the chair in front of the computer screen. It is, as expected, password protected. Spock could run a subroutine to bypass the password, but it would be more efficient if JT could guess the password. “Do you know what it could be?” He tries to keep his voice even, but he knows their time is running short. 

Luckily, JT does not object. He tries one password, and then another, fingers flying quickly over the keyboard. Spock will stop him if the third attempt fails, but as if the computer could hear his thoughts, it unlocks to display a blank home screen. He steps in beside JT and begins to work, pulling up existing programs and modifying them. He doesn’t get far before the answers fall into his lap. JT watches him blearily as he opens data packets and repeated messages from Starfleet, trying to communicate with known entities on Tarsus, increasingly desperate with every unanswered call. 

The oldest messages state that they know something is wrong, and that supply ships are mobilising. It takes time to collect food enough for 8,000 settlers, they say. Hold tight. As the messages progress, the tone of communications changes from calm confidence to barely concealed panic. No one is responding. Starfleet is sending out colony wide communications and receiving not a single response. They fear the worst, but the supply ships are coming with all possible haste. The freights are accompanied by a Constitutional Class battleship re-routed from the Laurentian system. Keep holding tight. 

The latest message is a communication marked six hours before, at approximately the time Spock had arrived. Starfleet has landed and are rounding up the colonists who had been on the _other_ list. They are arresting Kodos’ henchmen. Evidence of the genocide is everywhere. They have de-activated the antimatter chambers. They are calling for any who might have survived. They are not optimistic. 

“Do you know the coordinates of the shelter?” Spock asks. 

JT, who has been reading the messages by his side, nods, and then shakes his head, a series of expressions running across his face. “What if it’s Kodos?” 

Spock blinks. “The origin codes correspond to Fleet supply ships. The time stamps and security seals are authentic. There are communications from Captain Georgiou. Starfleet has arrived, JT.” JT looks reluctant, still. “I will not leave until I am certain that they have arrived. I will not leave you.” 

“Okay,” he says finally, and gives the codes to Spock. For a brief moment, Spock wonders that JT could be so trusting of a person who is practically a stranger, even after everything he has experienced in his young life. Or perhaps he is an instinctive judge of character, as Spock has so often witnessed himself. Spock drafts a viciously efficient message and sends it to every available address within range. Comms should be receiving the messages all at once, almost instantly. He knows there’s a risk that Kodos’ men would be on every single one of those receiving frequencies, but there is no choice. This is a risk they must take. If there was a time for Kodos’ remaining supporters to take their final stand, it is now. 

“We must leave,” Spock says, and doesn’t wait for JT’s response. “Please show me the way.” To his credit, JT does not protest. He simply takes off, moving as quickly as his weakened body can. Not for the first time, Spock wants to carry him, and considers offering. But he knows better than almost anyone how valuable pride is to James Kirk.

Daylight fades quickly, and between one breath and the next they are left travelling entirely in the dark. Spock does not know whether he wants JT in front of him or behind him. In the end, JT sees the group of men before Spock does, notwithstanding Spock’s superior eyesight and hearing. There is clearly something to be said for JT’s raw instincts. 

The men are travelling in the direction of the shelter with almost unerring precision. They are not dressed in Starfleet uniform, nor do they move with the precision of those trained by Starfleet; these are Kodos’ men. Spock knows their communications have been intercepted, as they had feared. 

“They can’t protect themselves,” JT whispers, terror filling his voice. Spock counts four men. With the element of surprise, he should be able to handle them. 

“How far is the shelter? Is it concealed?” 

“If everyone has taken cover, as they should have after sundown, it’s hidden from plain sight. The cave is about a kilometer away. But the kids might be on high alert since I didn’t get back. Tommy might have sent some out on patrol. We didn’t really discuss what would happen if I didn’t survive. We just assumed that I’d -” JT takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to stave off an impending panic attack. “I don’t _know_ ,” he whispers, agonised, resigned to failure, or death. 

JT shifts on his haunches, and Spock knows what is going to happen before it does. JT is intelligent. JT is a tactician. JT’s survival strategies were lauded by the survivors for years, even after the general public forgot about the Tarsus Massacre, and the lone, missing survivor. 

JT is a starving, thirteen year old child. He sees no way out. He’s going to run out and attract the attention of the men. It is a typical move for James Kirk, to play decoy, to give others the chance to escape. Subduing the men after that will be almost impossible, especially if they are armed. Spock would lay his life down for James Kirk, but if this happens, it will have all been in vain. 

He catches JT before his muscles fully release, wrapping his arms around JT’s body and pressing his hand across JT’s mouth to keep him from shouting. He is grateful that it is too dark to see the look of betrayal in JT’s eyes. “I will not see you die, James Kirk. Not like this. You must not intervene. I will take care of this. Please trust me.” He knows even in the low light, without being told, that JT will not allow him to go alone. There is only one solution, and it comes to him almost instantly. 

Spock will almost certainly survive the confrontation with Kodos’ men, but it is unlikely that JT will, in his condition. A surge of sentiment overpowers him. He has come so close to losing his own Jim. He will not allow it to happen here; not when he has the power to avoid it. “Live long,” he whispers, “and prosper, my friend.” 

The phrase ‘nerve-pinch’ is a misnomer. There is no pinching involved, and barely any pain. JT goes limp instantly, with little more than a press of Spock’s fingers. Spock lowers his prone form to the ground and tucks a phaser into his lax hand. It will be more help to JT than to Spock. He resists the urge to stroke JT’s hair as he stands up. They are, both of them, beyond comfort. Guilt flares up inside his chest and he suffocates it into submission. Lives depend on his actions, now. 

As he starts moving, faster than he could have with JT behind him, Spock hopes that one day JT will forgive him enough to befriend a lonely young Vulcan who shares his name. 

The men are slow, even for average Terrans. Perhaps they are hungry, too. They cannot escape Spock. It’s almost disturbingly easy to subdue them. By the time they realise they are being attacked, Spock has snapped two necks, limp bodies discarded behind him. He sees the glint of a phaser aimed at him and targets the other man first, twisting his arm behind his back and wresting his body in front of Spock’s own, like a shield. The phaser discharges belatedly and his human shield collapses. Spock does not know, or care, whether the phaser was set to stun or kill. 

He does not take pleasure in killing. It is not in his nature. But Spock has learned more about himself in the past few days than he ever thought existed. Depths that had been hidden, even from him. He knows there is very little he would not do in defence of Jim Kirk, whether he goes by Jim or James or JT. He is not pleased, but he is satisfied when the last man drops the phaser and turns to run. 

Overpowering him is the work of seconds. It had not been a fair fight, but Spock does not mind overmuch. The rules of engagement do not apply to those who would harm children. 

Spock is barely breathing hard when he turns to find JT. He suspects that if Starfleet does find the shelter, the children will not emerge without JT, and if they are seized by inept soldiers, the situation will deteriorate. He does not want to risk JT being left behind, if Starfleet does not heed the children’s protests to find their leader. He knows only too well how the force of bureaucracy can drown out the voices of those who need help most. 

He lifts JT and begins running. His weight is insubstantial and Spock lets the rage pass through him like a current, burning against the circumstances which have led to this. 

He hears activity from the shelter before he sees it. JT had been correct to say that the shelter is not visible at first glance, and especially not in the dark, but there are signs of activity everywhere, plain to see. The ground is packed tight from being walked on frequently, and the layer of white dust is thinner, almost non-existent in some places, as if it’s been repeatedly brushed away. There’s a small dark depression in the ground, and most of the ash and debris has been cleared away, but Spock can still see the signs of a fire pit. Trees have been cleared of their lower branches and the ground is clear of stones and boulders that could serve as cover for an ambush. 

Starfleet is not here yet. 

Spock suspects the shelter is in the cave at the side of the clearing, but he knows better than to attempt entry. Fear makes people unpredictable, and Spock has no interest in discovering what type of weapons these children have armed themselves with, in the absence of their leader. He considers making an announcement, of sorts, to inform the children that JT is alive and well. But he does not think they will believe anything he says at this point. Not everyone is as accurate a judge of character as JT. The clearing is silent and utterly still.

So he moves to the other side of the clearing and lays JT’s onto the ground, before sitting down beside him. It only takes a moment for Spock to decide to put JT’s head in his lap. It is not contact he would ordinarily find acceptable, but Spock finds it is difficult to imagine denying JT any shred of comfort, at this time. 

The nerve pinch, though efficient, does not have a long-lived effect. JT will be awake soon enough, and he will surely be too upset to accept anything from Spock. He does not stroke JT’s hair. There is nothing to do now but to wait. 

He is grateful that it does not take very long for JT to begin to stir. He does not awaken gradually, but all at once, moving from unconsciousness to full alertness within the blink of an eye. Spock does not require daylight to see terror in his eyes. 

“I am unarmed,” he offers, once JT starts breathing again, on his knees a short distance away from Spock. The wariness in his posture affects Spock more than he would like to admit. 

“Not sure that makes any difference,” JT croaks, which is a fair assessment of the situation, so Spock lifts a shoulder in some approximation of a gesture he has once seen from _his_ Jim, intended to signify regret but not apology. 

JT snorts and then sits back on his haunches, unexpectedly. “That looked uncomfortable. Like something you’ve seen someone else do, but never tried yourself.” 

“Indeed,” Spock replies, “I’m attempting to copy it from you.” 

JT blinks and the light humour in his eyes disappears. “Was it all a trap?” 

Spock does not think JT would be so calm now if he thought that _Spock_ was a trap, so he assumes JT is referring to the messages from Starfleet. He shakes his head. “Negative. I am confident that the correspondence originates from Starfleet. However, it’s possible that the frequencies were being monitored by Kodos’ men.”

“Have we been captured?” JT asks, rubbing his wrists as if he can’t quite believe that he’s free to move about. 

Spock raises an eyebrow, though he’s not sure whether his expression is conveyed in the dark. “I would not have allowed that to happen.” 

JT does not respond for a long moment, and then nods. “I guess I knew that. Sorry for doubting you, Spock.” 

Spock marvels at JT’s capacity for forgiveness. He shakes his head, because it’s not something he particularly deserves. “You have done nothing wrong to require my forgiveness. Instead, it is I who should apologise.” Spock doesn’t regret knocking JT out to keep him safe, nor does he regret killing those men, but, “I regret that I was put in a position to betray your trust.” He has made this same apology to his own Jim, once before, and repeating the experience does not make it any more pleasant. 

JT sighs. “We’re just going to sit here apologising to each other until Starfleet turns up?” 

Spock is almost surprised to realise how familiar the sensation of amusement is, around JT. He wonders if this is a trait shared by all members of the Kirk family, or just this one. “We may, if you so wish, but we are only one minute away from the shelter. Your friends have likely been concerned for you, perhaps--”

Spock doesn’t even finish his sentence before JT is on his feet, moving towards the shelter. Spock stands up, not intending to follow him yet but unwilling to give up the advantage of being behind JT’s back, if it proves necessary. 

His first thought is that maybe he’d injured himself in the fight after all, and it had taken him this long to notice it. He presses a hand against his side, where a fierce pain is making itself known, just above his heart. The sensation intensifies and Spock doubles over silently, exhaling sharply through his nose to keep from gasping. 

He glances down at his hand, which is clean, and his shirt, which is dry and whole. There is no evidence of an external injury. His knees give way and he lands backwards on the ground, keeping his hand pressed against his side, though it doesn’t seem to make a difference in the intensity of the pain. 

JT hears it, and turns. If Spock had been looking, he would have seen an expression of absolute terror flash across JT’s face. Instead, by the time JT reaches his side, his composure has masked his concern. “Are you hurt?” 

Spock shakes his head, too breathless to form words. Trying to keep JT alive had made it only too easy to forget how he arrived here, but now it is the thought forefront in his mind. Temporal displacement cannot be forgiving on a body. Spatial displacement, though Spock only has this one experience to draw from, is likely no better. 

The pain pulsates and Spock closes his eyes and grits his teeth to maintain consciousness. JT is doing an excellent job of keeping his calm, but Spock knows his face. Spock knows _him_. There is naked fear in his eyes, more familiar than Spock had ever believed when he first met the cocksure young captain-to-be. “I believe my time here is at an end,” he manages to say, his voice almost even. 

JT shakes his head. “You said you’d stay with me, Spock,” he hisses, his hands in a vice grip around Spock’s bicep, like he’s afraid that Spock will disappear if he lets go. 

Spock nods, “I know. But this is not within my control, JT. I do not know how I arrived here, and I am uncertain as to the manner of my leaving. I may not have a choice.” 

“I don’t want to be alone, Spock,” JT whispers. “I don’t want to die alone, here.” 

Rage flares through Spock at the thought that JT has given up hope, equally if not more painful than the sensation in his gut. He resists the urge to bare his teeth, but something of his expression must have caught JT’s attention. “You will not die here, James Kirk. This is not your final resting place. You will survive, and you will recover, and one day when you are prepared to make your mark on the universe, you will become the best and only friend of a lonely Vulcan, and you will change each other’s lives irreversibly. You will not deprive my younger self of that privilege. If you do not believe in yourself, believe me. You will not die here, James. You are not done yet.” 

Spock doesn’t know where the words came from, or the emotions, but they’re gone as quickly as they arrived, and he begins to feel himself fading around the edges. It’s disconcerting, but at least the pain is gone. “Live long, James Kirk” he says, as his skin begins to glow, illuminating JT’s thin face. “ _Rom halan_.” 

_Farewell_. 

He closes his eyes so that he does not have to see the look of loss on JT’s face, and when he opens them he is in the hospital once again. 

He blinks into alertness, trying to settle back into his body and refamiliarise himself with his collection of aches and pains. His pupils dilate; it is daytime, here. Nyota is shaking him awake. 

“He’s awake.”


	5. Part V: The End (2263)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “T’hy’la is a word for soulmates. It refers to those who are more than friends, who are more than brothers, and who are more than lovers.” Once he would have been afraid of Jim’s reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] This quote comes from a [post](https://good-ho-mens.tumblr.com/post/619569428543209472/me-i-love-space-so-much-my-grandpa-do-you-love) by good-ho-mens on Tumblr - thank you for giving me [permission](https://good-ho-mens.tumblr.com/post/622142949063573504/hello-im-ladymerlin-obsessionality-on-tumblr) to use it! Please don't share the fic with your grandpa until I've cleaned it up! xP
> 
> Writing this ending was the hardest thing I've ever done. I've honestly struggled so damn much with it, I cannot _even_. I know it's a little rushed, and I know that some parts of it need to be re-written, but please forgive me, and please be kind to me. I'll be coming back to it once I get more than two hours of sleep in a day.

They do not have the opportunity to speak for many weeks, after Jim awakes. 

At first, JT - Jim is recovering. It is accurate to say, no matter how much he or Spock dislike the term, that Doctor McCoy performed a medical miracle in bringing Jim back to life. Khan’s blood has extraordinary regenerative properties, but it is not a panacea. Jim’s body has not been magically healed of all its wounds. The damage inflicted will take time to heal, medicine to rebuild Jim’s shattered immune system, and physical therapy to rebuild the muscles that had been destroyed by irradiation in the reactor chamber. 

Much of those weeks remains a blur. 

Jim; because he’s forced to focus on his recovery to the exclusion of all else. 

Spock; because once he learns that Jim will survive, he throws himself into ensuring that there is a ship and a crew for Jim to captain when he recovers, and everything else in good order. He is not as charismatic as Jim, which makes certain tasks more difficult to achieve, but it has never been said that Spock knows when to give up gracefully. 

By the time Jim is released into Dr McCoy’s recognizance, the latter of whom takes to dictating Jim’s every move with unholy glee, the admiralty has been beaten into submission with unsubtle reminders of everything Jim and his crew have done for the Federation. The fault for the Harrison Incident lies primarily with Admiral Marcus, and Spock - who will certainly never admit it - almost enjoys the look on the admirals faces when they realise that to the public, they will each be tarred with the same brush. 

Spending prolonged periods with Dr McCoy has the unintended consequence of broadening Spock’s own vocabulary, if not necessarily his understanding of Terran idioms and metaphors. Though sometimes he does suspect that the doctor is feeding him flagrant fictions from behind a diplomat’s face. The two of them, together with Jim’s crew and closest friends, spend all their time caring for their captain, ignoring any indication from Jim that he might be embarrassed by their attention. 

There is no shame in taking time to heal, Spock reminds him. _Idiots don’t get to be embarrassed_ , McCoy adds. Between them especially, they manage Jim quite well, but Spock does not get a chance to speak with him alone, about his temporal displacement, or about Tarsus. 

Not until McCoy receives a call from his daughter and has to leave. Neither of them begrudge him this; not when they understand so well that family can be here one day and gone the next. McCoy leaves Spock a manual on the care and feeding of James Kirk, and Spock is almost amused to note that almost all of it is familiar to him. It eases his mind to know that he has been at least as good a friend to Jim as McCoy. 

They take to spending long hours together during the second half of Jim’s convalescence, but still Spock cannot bring himself to raise the subject. 

Eventually, as in most things, Jim opens the doorway.

It’s a Sunday afternoon and most of the students on campus have escaped to the city to while away the remainder of their weekend. They’ve been talking about a variety of subjects, ranging from casual gossip to more serious issues, and neither of them have stopped marveling at how easy it is to be like this, with each other. 

Jim can still remember the last time he’d asked Spock this question. “What do you know about time travel?”

Spock looks up at Jim for a moment, before putting his book down. He doesn’t use a bookmark, and Jim idly wonders how he’d feel about Jim’s habit of marking his own books with dog ears. 

“You have asked me this question before, so I must assume that there is a reason you are asking again. What do you wish to know?” 

Jim thinks about it for a bit. He’s draped along the length of his sofa with his feet hanging over the armrest, while Spock is sitting in an armchair with his knees at perfect right angles and his feet flat against the ground. The only indication that he’s at ease is the soft line of his shoulders, and the gentle curve of his wrist; relaxed. 

Maybe Bones should have had him committed before he left for Georgia. 

“I suppose I’m not asking what you in particular know. I’m asking what Vulcans know about time travel, in general. Any textbooks or folklore or, maybe, uh. Any historical accounts of time travel happening to or around Vulcans?” 

“You are no doubt aware that much of our historical data has been lost, especially that which was most precious and most ancient to our people. But you-” Spock’s expression is not easy to read for all its subtlety, but to someone as familiar as Jim, the twitch of his eyebrow is a clear indication of shock. “You have experienced a temporal displacement.” It’s not a question. 

Jim considers obfuscating, before deciding that there’s no reason to depart from his rule of not lying to Spock. He’d always planned to share this secret anyway; it’s been sitting like a boulder on his chest for long enough.

He lifts a shoulder in a one-sided shrug. “I mean, that’s definitely a cooler word for it than what I’d come up with, but yeah, sure. Temporal and spatial, I think. It wasn’t our timeline. How’d you guess?” 

Spock shakes his head. “I did not ‘guess’. I too, have experienced a temporal displacement recently.” 

“Just one?” Jim asks absently, wondering if the look on Spock’s face means that it had happened when Jim was in a coma. Both he and Bones tend to get a particular look on their faces when they talk about that period of time, like they can’t bear thinking about it. 

He realises he’s possibly said the wrong thing when Spock’s eyes go sharp, indicating that the supercomputer between his ears has just been refocused on a single point of interest. “You have experienced this more than once? And you have not informed anyone?” 

Jim grimaces and shrugs again. “I dunno, it just didn’t feel like it was anyone’s business. I was going to tell you, eventually, but we were pretty busy. I mean, you didn’t either, right?” 

And it is true, that Spock had not informed anyone of his visit to Tarsus IV, but something about this is still irksome. It is not a pleasant thought that, even now, Jim keeps secrets from him about his life. Spock wonders if he would have told the Ambassador about it, if he had been available. 

“Will you share your experiences with me?” He knows it is not his place as a Commander to ask such things of his Captain, but perhaps it is something Jim will share with a friend. 

Jim watches him from beneath his eyelashes for a long moment, before nodding. “You can’t get mad at me, though.” For a second Spock sees JT’s face, just below Jim’s. Spock is no more capable of hating this man than he is capable of hating the boy he’d met so briefly, such a long time ago. 

“Very well,” Spock says, with far more gravity than the statement likely merits. “I will not get mad at you.” He doesn’t qualify himself by saying that Vulcans don’t get mad, even though Jim is clearly waiting for him to. 

Jim sighs and sinks back against the sofa, hanging his head so far over the arm rest that a joint pops somewhere in his back. Spock bites back the urge to chide him. “First time was a couple of years ago, I guess. After the thing with the Romulans, the first time. When I got hit in the back of the head, remember?” 

Spock remembers only too well, the then-unfamiliar sensation of panic when he’d seen Jim collapse from the corner of his eye. He nods. 

“I woke up on Vulcan.” Jim stops, chewing at his lower lip. Spock resists the urge to reach out to stop him. “I woke up on Vulcan and met you.” 

Spock blinks. He’d thought that nothing could be more surprising than the fact that both of them had been displaced through time and space, into a parallel universe. He’s uncertain why it surprises him even more, that for some reason, Jim had found _him_. 

“You were seven years old, and let me tell you Spock, you were _adorable_.” Jim’s eyes spark with amusement and Spock feels himself blushing; a bizarre Human reaction that seems to attract Jim’s attention, even when it had caused him no end of grief among his peers on Vulcan. “You’d run away from home to do your _Kahs-wan_.” 

The words bring memories to the forefront of Spock’s mind, so vivid that he can almost feel the sand against his face, the heat baking his skin. “I remember this,” Spock says carefully. “Running away from home. I-Chaya came after me, and then my Father. I do not remember you, Jim.” 

Jim shrugs. “That’s because I don’t think I visited _you_. I think I visited another Spock, in another universe. I know that probably sounds insane, but…” he trails off. Spock doesn’t interrupt, processing his own thoughts. “I didn’t realise it then, you know? It didn’t occur to me that things were different in that universe. I figured something happened to make you forget me, before we met for the first time after the Kobayashi Maru.” 

“That would have been a reasonable assumption,” Spock adds, because if JT had not been immediately distinguishable from Jim, Spock might have assumed the same thing. “When did you realise that you had met someone else?” 

“I met him three times. I’m guessing you already know how the first time ended. The second time was just after you’d - _he’d_ \- sat for the admissions tests at the VSA. I landed in Sarek’s house while everyone else was off planet, and I told you about the whole time travelling thing. I was so relieved when you believed me, Spock, I thought I was losing my mind.” 

Spock wonders if their relationship would have been stronger if Spock had behaved differently towards Jim from the beginning. If his first impression of Jim hadn’t been that he was a cheater, or if he’d taken Jim’s word about Nero and the lightning storm. He knows though, that Jim would not agree. Spock privately thinks neither of them would change the manner of their meeting, or the friendship they’ve built since then. 

“He wanted me to tell him if he got in but I - I couldn’t tell him. I think I realised that it wasn’t a choice I could make for him. And I think he realised it too. Like, no matter what I said, he wouldn’t have been happy with the answer, and - I think that’s when I started panicking.” 

Spock doesn’t press for an explanation, he just waits. He knows Jim will get there, eventually. 

“I hadn’t realised that it was a different timeline, you know? I started worrying about accidentally changing it. What if I told you something and then you chose the opposite, or if I said something that made you want to change your future. I know better now, but I used to be really worried that you weren’t happy with your life. Don’t get me wrong,” Jim babbles, “I wasn’t worried _only_ about you, but mainly. About you.” Jim takes a deep breath, and visibly bites back the words that threaten to spill. It’s a more endearing habit than Spock had thought possible. 

“You were wise to practice caution,” Spock admits. He cannot doubt that there is a small voice in the back of his head, reminding him that he may well have ruined the relationship between JT and his version of Spock before they even met. 

“To answer your earlier question, there is no such information publicly available in the Vulcan records regarding such displacements, save for what my alternate version has shared. However, even the Ambassador was wary of the risks involved in changing outcomes in different timelines, and was thus quite reserved in how much he shared.” Jim smiles at him, but it’s a pale imitation of his usual expression. He’s clearly still concerned about the consequences of his actions on the alternate timeline. “You performed admirably, given the circumstances.” Jim’s smile turns a little warmer, and Spock considers it a job well done. 

“I considered approaching my father,” Spock continues, as though their conversation hadn’t been side-tracked. “However, there is no reason for him to have access to any information which has not already been made public, in the aftermath of the Narada incident.”

“You mean you haven’t, already? You said it happened to you too, right? I’d have thought you’d figure it out pretty quickly.” Jim isn’t condescending, he just knows how Spock operates. Neither of them could be apathetic or incurious in the face of a mystery, but Spock Prime had summed it up best: Spock loved a mystery he could spend the rest of his life solving. Jim loved a mystery he could spend a lifetime loving.[FN1] They are no less compatible for it. 

“I considered it as an option,” Spock says, and then pauses like he does when he’s trying to formulate his thoughts into something which strikes a balance between honesty and tact. “However, the nature of my visit was such that I found myself reluctant to share. The only person whom I would have raised it with was the Ambassador, and since that is no longer possible, I resolved to - as Doctor McCoy would say - sit on it.” 

Jim snorts and then winces when the movement pulls at his sore muscles. “You and Bones must have been a riot. I wish I’d been around to see it.” 

Spock shakes his head. “I believe in this circumstance, your presence would have affected the outcome.” 

In the same way a photon affects the behaviour of a particle in the dark; the mere fact of Jim’s presence would have changed the outcome, as it so-often does. “You are aware, of recent we have been amicable, but our mutual concern for you gave us a common understanding.” He stops speaking abruptly, as if something has occurred to him. “Which is not to say that I would exchange your health and wellbeing for my new-found _detente_ with the good Doctor-”

Jim flaps a hand at him, cutting him off. “No, I get it, relax Spock. The two of you probably just needed some peace and quiet to have a heart-to-heart talk, huh? I should have guessed earlier. After all, I’m pretty skilled at agitating both of you.” 

“Indeed,” Spock eventually says, resisting the urge to point out that it’s an understatement. “You are perhaps unique, in that sense.” 

Jim looks undeniably pleased, and Spock is relieved that he isn’t offended by Spock’s assessment. 

“Though, I have noticed that you still haven’t told me where you time-travelled to. Can’t evade me forever, Spock!” Jim says, turning to beam at him. Spock wonders if this is how that particle had felt, when a benevolent observer shone a ray of light upon it. Idly, he wonders if the Doctor’s chronic poeticism had been contagious, and if there’s any chance of a cure. 

He does not know how to be gentle, but he finds that he does not wish to hurt Jim through his straightforwardness. “I awoke on a planet, which I learned was known as Tarsus IV.” Jim’s face does not pale, nor does his expression change, but the sudden tension in his limbs warns Spock to tread carefully. Spock had hoped in his heart that this Jim - _his_ Jim - would have been spared from JT’s suffering, but that does not appear to be the case. 

“Although I know what is commonly known about the Colony, I did not make the connection until I spoke with a pair of young individuals. Elia and Dom.” Jim sucks in a sharp breath, recognition perhaps, but when he doesn’t speak, Spock continues. “I had arrived roughly three standard months after Governor Kodos massacred half the colony. Elia and Dom introduced me to a young man named JT.” 

Spock watches Jim, and knows that Jim is watching him too, like he has his back up against a wall, and he’s looking for an opportunity to escape. In this moment, Jim resembles JT almost painfully, notwithstanding his blue eyes. It does not sit well with him that Jim thinks he must escape from Spock. 

Spock wants to reassure Jim that he would remove himself from this plane of existence before he deliberately hurt Jim, but Jim has never put much stock in words. Instead, Spock deliberately eases back into his own chair, and waits until some of the tension seeps from Jim’s shoulders. He’s not going anywhere, and he’s not going to make any sudden moves. Jim will not end this conversion until Spock suggests that Jim and JT are one and the same, though they both know it is true. For the most part. 

When he’s reasonably certain that Jim will not attempt evasive maneuvers, Spock starts talking again. “JT had rescued a number of children from the massacre, and they had set up a camp away from the edges of the settlement. I didn’t meet any other children, but Dom and Elia were devoted to JT. They clearly respected him as their leader. Mention was made of another individual named Thomas Leighton, whose name I recognised from our timeline, but I did not meet with him. I spent the majority of my time there beside JT.” _As is his place in the universe_ , Spock thinks. 

“Did you tell him who you were?” 

Spock lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug, the same gesture that had left JT giggling from how unnatural it was on Spock’s limbs. “I did not wish to harm him, and I do not believe the children would have allowed me to remain in their proximity without a very good reason for it.” Jim snorts, but doesn’t speak. “I offered to help them send a message to Starfleet. An emergency beacon, of sorts. JT mentioned that he knew of a linguist, who was likely to have in her possession undamaged communications equipment.”

Spock pauses to look at Jim, to really observe him. Jim sighs and scrubs both his palms across his face, but doesn’t lift them, almost like he can’t bear to be seen. Something in Spock aches at the sight of Jim, looking so small and so hurt, but he doesn’t say anything. “Why are you doing this, Spock? I mean, we both know it was me, we should just drop the damn facade. I should’ve known that I wouldn’t be able to keep my presence on Tarsus a secret forever. I don’t know why I’m so upset about it.” There’s a subtle downturn of his mouth, and Spock wonders yet again why his captain - and friend - is so cautious with his true expressions. .

“Why would your involvement on Tarsus IV no longer remain a secret?” Spock asks, plainly. He suspects he knows the answer, but he will wait for it to be articulated before he responds. 

Jim blinks at him. “I couldn’t ask you to lie,” he says, like it’s obvious. 

Spock shakes his head. “You have not asked me, and it is not a lie if the information is not owed to anyone. This is the business of no one other than those you wish to tell. Further,” he continues carefully, “I find that my moral qualms rarely survive the onslaught of our relationship.” He’s treading dangerously close to a confession he is not certain will be welcome, but there is no viable alternative. He will not hesitate to lie to others for Jim, but he can not lie _to_ Jim. Not for long. 

Spock watches Jim think, drawing circular patterns on the fabric of the sofa, his skin making a faint rasping sound against the cloth. “Hoshi Sato was my mentor,” Jim says, apropos of nothing. “Dom and Elia were my kids. Kevin and Martha. Tommy was too old to be my kid, but he was a better brother to me than Sam ever was. Though I guess you probably think I’m being uncharitable.” 

“I do not,” Spock denies, but doesn’t elaborate. 

Jim inhales quickly and then launches into speech, as though he’s concerned if he stops he will be unable to start again. “Winona - Mom sent me there because I was acting out. She thought it’d get me straightened out. I suppose it worked, but not the way she thought it would. After everything that happened, by the time I got home, you couldn’t have paid me to stay in her house. It’s funny, y’know? I told parts of this story to the other you. Just the bare bones of it, and I kept thinking to myself that it’d be much easier to tell it to you. It doesn’t make sense, but it is. You’re pretty damn easy to talk to, Spock.”

“You would be one of the rare few who shares that opinion,” Spock says, lightly. 

“Well, I’ve always said most people are idiots. Doesn’t matter. You’re way too easy to talk to. Thanks for not letting this be too weird.” 

Spock doesn’t know what that means, but he tilts his head in acceptance anyway; who is he to dispute it? 

“So you got there three months after the massacre? That’s about the time Starfleet would have arrived, right?” 

Spock nods and tells Jim the rest of it, including the nerve pinch, and JT’s forgiveness. Jim grins. 

“I’m not surprised. He sounds at least a little bit like me. Baby Spock did, y’know? He spoke like you and he even looked like you. It took me a long time to figure out that he wasn’t you. Did you feel like that?” 

Spock shakes his head. “I recognised your features almost instantly, but I also understood at first glance that you were not the James Kirk I was familiar with.” Jim’s eyebrow quirks in a silent query. “It was a simple physical difference that gave it away. His eyes were hazel-brown. Yours are blue.” Spock knows there are many words for the colour of Jim’s eyes, but he cannot bring himself to use them. 

“They say my eyes are blue because of the interstellar radiation I was exposed to, when I was born.” Jim stops for a second, watching Spock intently. “Can I ask you a question?” 

Spock nods; how could he refuse? 

“What does _‘t’hy’la’_ mean?” 

Spock feels himself turn to stone, and he does not know what Jim sees in his expression that causes him to react with concern. “Where have you heard that word?” he asks instead, feigning calm.

“Is it something horrible?” Jim asks, avoiding the question. “Shit, what does it mean?” 

“I will tell you,” Spock promises, catching Jim’s attention before he disappears into his own thoughts. “But you must tell me who has said it to you, Jim.” He cannot deny that it sounds like a plea, but he has enough faith in Jim to know that he will not be judged poorly for it. 

Out of all the outcomes Spock had imagined, this had not been one of them. That Jim has been claimed as t’hy’la for someone else is not surprising; how could they not love him? But the thought that Spock has come so close, only to fail now, is unpleasant. 

Jim worries at his lower lip. “The third time I met you. Younger you, in the other timeline,” Jim clarifies, as though he could be referring to yet another version of Spock. “You were acting a little weird.” 

Ice begins to creep up Spock’s spine, but he doesn’t say anything. “I mean, he didn’t do anything horrible, he was just a little touchy. Less concerned about preserving his own space, if you know what I mean.” The euphemism makes Spock shudder. 

“Did I harm you?” Spock asks, using every ounce of self-control to modulate his tone. 

There’s a blank look on Jim’s face, and Spock is about to repeat the question when his meaning becomes clear to Jim. Jim’s eyebrows soar and he’s shaking his head before he even begins to speak. “No, of course not Spock, not at all! I promise. He didn’t harm a single hair on my head.” 

Spock wants to believe him. “A Vulcan in the throes of _ponn farr_ would never be restrained. Not in the face of his _t’hy’la_.” 

“Well,” Jim says, crossing his arms over his chest neatly. “I suppose it’s a good thing he wasn’t in the throes of _ponn farr_ , then. Honestly Spock. He was just a little more cuddly than you, he wasn’t going to hurt me.” 

“You could not have known that.” 

“Spock, I never harboured a single doubt that I was safe. He didn’t even want to talk about what was happening to him, like he was just going to pretend it wasn’t happening to him. I mean, there’s nothing to be ashamed of? If it’s just biology?” 

“There is much to be ashamed of, if we hurt our - if we hurt our partners and loved ones in the midst of mating throes. Vulcans in the peak of a blood fever have been known to kill each other over even a perceived challenge.” 

Jim shrugs. “Biology, Spock. You can’t help it. Anyway, I don’t think he was actually in _ponn farr_.” Spock flinches at the use of the phrase, but Jim doesn’t notice. “In fact, he said he wasn’t sure if he even could, or would, because of his half-Human genes.” The question sits on the very tip of Jim’s tongue, but he’s not sure how to ask it yet; to ask whether Spock too, loses himself to the madness, once every seven years. 

Spock does not know, but he dreads the day that his answer turns into a more definitive one than ‘maybe’. Jim eyes him, but doesn’t press. 

“He didn’t want to talk about it, at first, so he suggested that he explain it to me through a meld.” 

Spock grinds his teeth, involuntarily. “He suggested a mind-meld?” Was it not cruel that Jim had melded with _one_ other version of Spock in this timeline?

Jim nods. “I turned him down.” 

Spock blinks. “May I inquire why?” 

Jim clears his throat a little. “It’s not like I didn’t consider it. It’s just that the first time I melded with the Ambassador, it was pretty intense. There was a lot of stuff in my head that I knew didn’t come from me. He said it was an unintentional side effect. Called it emotional transference. Still, melding with him was probably one of the most intense things that’d ever happened to me. It’s not something I could take lightly, because I know how it feels. And,” he trails off. “And there’s only one person I can think of, with whom I’d want to share my thoughts, anymore.” 

Spock’s mind races at the speed of light, but it still takes him longer than it should, to notice that Jim is sitting in absolute silence; as if he’s waiting for a reaction. 

A reaction from Spock. 

Spock; the only other person Jim knows who can perform a mind-meld. 

The understanding is a _rush_ ; accompanied by a cascade of thoughts and emotions that Spock has been ignoring for so long. Spock swallows hard, more affected by Jim’s words than either of them had expected. “You wish to meld with me? Do you know the significance?” 

Jim nods, and then shrugs. “The other you, the younger one, he got really upset about it when I turned him down and told him about melding with the Ambassador. He told me that it’s pretty much one of the most intimate things Vulcans can do. The only person I could think of, that I’d want to do something like that with, was you. But even before that, I suppose I always knew.”

Spock waits for elaboration, for Jim to explain what it is that he’s always known, but nothing comes. “What did you always know?”

“Spock, you’re my best friend, apart from Bones, and he’s more like my brother. We live on a constitutional class starship and we do things everyday that most people only _dream_ of doing. We travel through the _stars_ , but no matter how hard I tried to avoid it, my entire day revolves around you. I want to talk to you about everything, and it’s not just because you’re easy to talk to. I just feel like, even when we don’t agree, we _understand_ each other. Like there’s some sort of connection between us, so I know what you _mean_ even when you don’t say it out loud. When the younger Spock described it, it just made sense. We’re practically already reading each others’ minds without melding.” 

Spock cannot deny it. In hindsight, it seems so obvious that it’s a miracle no one other than Nyota had recognised it. But now that the realisation is in the forefront of his mind, he can’t look away from it. He cannot - and does not want to - pretend that he hasn’t seen it. 

“ _T’hy’la_ ,” Spock says eventually, trying to compose his thoughts, “is a word which hails from pre-Surakian times. It’s a very old word, with a very specific meaning.” 

He turns to look at Jim, because this is an explanation that should not be misunderstood, and he wants Jim to know that he’s being honest. “T’hy’la is a word for soulmates. It refers to those who are more than friends, brothers, or lovers.” Once he would have been afraid of Jim’s reaction. The thought of burdening Jim with the responsibility for his feelings had filled him with dread.

Now, Spock knows better. 

Jim swallows hard. “At this point it’s pretty conclusive. The universe has given me way more than my fair share of chances. I’ve met _two_ other versions of you, and still, the only person I want to be involved with is you.” 

Spock wants to say something to, to express his agreement, his wholehearted consent to Jim’s proposal, but his mouth is dry and his tongue is stuck to his upper-pallet; a stunning display of his Human genes. “Me too,” he says, eloquence failing him. “Yes,” he adds, to reiterate his enthusiasm. 

He offers two fingers to Jim, holding his palm facing-up in the space between them, humming with intensity. Jim blinks, but he reaches out anyway, mirroring Spock’s hand with two fingers outstretched and the rest curled into his palm. “This is how Vulcans kiss,” Spock whispers and presses their fingertips together. 

It’s a soft touch, and Spock keeps a tight leash on his telepathy, but Jim’s warmth is undeniable. Their ease of connection, threatening to break down all of Spock’s barriers, is breathtaking. Spock’s breath hitches, and when he looks up, Jim is smiling. 

Jim pushes himself to his feet without breaking the contact between their hands and moves towards Spock, giving him a chance to escape if he needs it. Spock stays still, like a deer in the headlights. Jim leans in until their mouths are inches apart. “This,” he says, “is how Humans kiss,” and he presses their lips together, in a kiss which is as sweet as the mental connection humming deep inside Spock’s mind. 

Spock closes his eyes almost helplessly. He has kissed Humans before, but never like this, with the warmth of a fledgling bond between them. He sighs when Jim pulls away. “I am glad you returned to me after all your travels,” he confesses. 

“Yeah,” Jim agrees. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please send love. It's the only thing that'll keep me alive.


	6. Chronology

**Author's Note:**

> **  
>  THE WARNINGS BELOW CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR THE FIC   
>  **
> 
> The full tags on this thing would include Spock Prime, Kirk Prime, ST:TOS, ST:XI, mentions of the Reboot Movies (esp. Beyond), and Alternate Universes. Not fanfic AUs, but like legitimate (?) travel between alternate dimensions (??). The long and short of it is that Jim (AOS) and Spock (AOS) are both time-travelling to the past. Jim (AOS) doesn't realise that the baby!Spock he's meeting isn't _his_ Spock, and even when he does figure it out, it takes him a while to realise he's meeting the baby version of Spock Prime (TOS). Spock (AOS), of course, picks up on the AU!Jim thing immediately, but the circumstances are in his favour. Apart from the following, I don't think there's anything that needs to be warned for: (i) canon/fanon typical jealousy between AU counterparts; (ii) the age-difference bullsh*ttery that is inherent in time-travel; (iii) mentions of off-screen, canon-typical violence (tagged); (iv) Tarsus IV, which is a warning in itself (also tagged); and (v) vicious and relentless abuse of the _deus ex_ tag.


End file.
